Holography 3: As a Reminder and a Promise
by Pat Foley
Summary: As Amanda adjust to life after the events of Holo2, a sinister Vulcan plots her murder. Also flashes back to when Sarek and Amanda meet. With Spock and T'Pau Chapter 77 up and COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Holography**

**Volume 3**

**As a Reminder, and a Promise…**

by

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 1**

Run mad as often as you chuse; but do not faint—

Jane Austen

_Note: This novel is a continuation of the Holo series, Volume 1: The Catalyst & Volume 2: The Wedding Present or the Starling's Lament_

**Stardate 2250.4 Vulcan**

**Prologue**

Freed from six months of chattel status after her husband had worked through a chronic _Pon Far_ condition, Amanda discovered upon her return to society that her husband's "throwing her into the deep end of the pool" had the elements of both a blessing and a curse. He'd signed her up for her usual set of classes and seminars at the Academy and let her in for it further by submitting for review a slew of academic papers she'd written months ago.

All this on top of her just getting used to wearing normal clothing again, walking without flinching through the door and gates of her home that were formerly locked against her, taking calls, making calls, and horror of all horrors, actually dealing with living people. It had been singularly stupid of Sarek to have assumed she could so easily resume her personal and professional lives simultaneously. Yet his naïve and touching faith in her abilities made her love him all the more.

Though it was hard to imagine how she could love him more than the day he'd restored her to bondmate status. She didn't have much time for introspection, but even she spared some moments marveling over her feelings for him. Intellectually, she felt like she should have some …reservations about the man who had raped and injured her, locked her up and kept her under strict chattel status all this while. And yet it was if that was another Sarek, maybe even another Amanda. As for her, she had six months of living in near stasis to make up for, six months of being starved for an emotional and physical connection to anyone, and most particularly her husband. And now that he – and she—were back to normal, she could hardly contain her love and relief. She felt like she could not get close enough, could not hold him, or have him hold her, tight enough. It was the first, and strongest reaction to her changed status, and while she had fleeting moments of wonder about it, her intellectual curiosity was far removed from her emotional needs.

Fortunately Sarek was feeling something similar. Lessons aside – and she knew if she cared to think about it that they both hated lessons - they hadn't made love in six months. And now, in spite of all the tasks that required her attention, and the frantic rushing to catch up that should have left her exhausted anyway, they were making love every night and every morning, with more than a few interludes in between when they could catch a minute. To a certain extent that wasn't all that unusual for them, before, but what was different was the way they were making love – with the frenetic desperation of a couple of teenagers.

So it was that they had woken at dawn, after a late night of lovemaking, and made love again. What was the phrase? She was drowning in honey, stingless. Rushed as she was from six months of delayed tasks, she went back to sleep for an hour, relaxed and content.

And woke for the second time, but this time to a lematya's outraged scream.

She sat up, blinking at the orange sunlight streaming through the long windows. It was much too late for a lematya to be around.

The furious scream came again, making her flinch. That was **close**. She heard the sound of male voices in the courtyard below. One calling to another, who answered. The words were indistinct, but she could hear the urgency in their tone, Vulcan though they were. She slipped from bed, took a wrap from the bathroom and went to the balcony.

Sarek came back into the bedroom, dressed for the desert in sand colored clothes, his hair in the crisp curls that was its natural state. He came up behind her on the balcony. "What is it?"

"I can't hear what they are saying," Amanda admitted. The lematya shrieked again, and she shuddered. "But I can hear that! What is she **doing** here, after sunrise?"

"An excellent question." At the third scream, Sondt, who managed the estate came out of the archway leading to the office wing, head turned to the sound of the lematya. Sarek stirred. "I should go down."

"No," Amanda protested. "You're not a guard. Let them handle it."

"I recently changed the security programs," Sarek reminded her. "It is extremely unlikely that I made an error. But I suppose it is possible. I must go and see."

A pair of guards, fully armed with stun phasers and tranquilizer guns, ran past, heading for the far gardens.

The lematya screamed again, furious, outraged. Amanda shivered. "It must be a cub in trouble. That's the only reason she'd be up after sunrise."

"Perhaps. Probable. A lematya might breach the security to protect a cub, but if she did, she'll be dangerous. Nevertheless, you need not be concerned, Amanda. We are well able to handle a stray lematya."

"What is this we? **You** don't have to handle it."

"In this case, it is my responsibility to assess the situation," Sarek was already halfway out the door. He paused and looked back at her, "Amanda. **Don't** go farther than the courtyard."

She was new enough to freedom that she hesitated at his words, then she realized what he meant. "You just told me there's nothing to worry about," she countered.

"Nothing for you to worry about. I don't want you near a raging lematya."

"Oh, that makes me feel much better!" She looked at him, but the habit of six months made her reluctant to argue or question further. "Be careful."

"I am always careful, my wife. I have not your predilection for accidents, cuts and scratches. So you will not follow me. The guard and I will have enough to do with suppressing a raging lematya, without concerning ourselves with the safety of a careless human." He disappeared.

Amanda sighed, amazed at how Sarek could express both love and censure in the same sentence. He **must **get it from T'Pau. And then she went to get dressed.

She made breakfast, taking out her anxiety by making some of Sarek's favorites, as if she could tempt him back from his dangerous pursuits. Her preparations were punctuated by the sounds of the lematya's continued enraged screams. Like tearing metal. Amanda consoled herself that the big cat must not be inside the perimeter, because if that weren't the case she'd have been dispatched quickly. She must be outside the fences and forcefields, and it must be a cub that drew her. It was sometimes frightening to realize these deadly creatures prowled so close to her home, right outside the garden walls, but Amanda had discovered, almost from her first days on Vulcan, that there was a traditional truce between Vulcans and lematya. Outside the protected cities, and the walled gardens of isolated households like hers, they were allowed to roam free, at night. If they breached security, or made nuisances of themselves during the day, impeding travel, or threatening safety, they were taken down, tranquilized and moved to remote and unpopulated areas. Most lematya, nocturnal anyway, were no trouble. This one must be after a cub. If her cub had gone inside the perimeter fences and somehow gotten trapped or stuck, she would leave as soon as her cub was returned to her.

Breakfast made, Amanda left it in stasis, and went out into the court. She hadn't heard any screams for the last five minutes, and she was at the end of the path, seriously considering going after Sarek anyway and marveling at her own temerity. And then saw Sarek and Sondt returning, head to head in discussion. Sarek glanced up and saw her, nodding that whatever had happened was over. For a moment, she still hesitated. She was getting used to the idea that she didn't have to shy from the staff, but she'd not yet actually pushed herself to encounter one. But she had to do it sometime, so she squared her shoulders and went to meet them, touching her fingers to Sarek's in the only public embrace proper for bondmates.

"Was it a cub?"

"Indeed." Sarek sounded amused. "It was chasing a litka, which took refuge in a irrigation tube. The cub got stuck, and could neither advance, nor retreat."

"Oh, poor thing. Is it all right?"

"We had to cut the tube apart to free it, which took some time and care not to injure the cub inside." Sondt said, "It cried continuously, hence the mother's outraged screams. However we did recover it undamaged, and it did not need much encouragement to flee for its mother. They returned to the hills immediately upon its release. I don't think we'll see that cub again. Though we have tagged it, as a matter of course. It is cub 467M."

Amanda wondered at the pride Vulcans took in tagging, tracking and otherwise taking care for these vicious predators. "A boy cub. No wonder it got into trouble. And the litka?"

"Long gone. Sarek, this was not a situation envisioned by the company that created the irrigation system. But covering those tubes with a mesh would prevent litka from entering them, and tempting foolish cubs."

"That seems a reasonable prevention."

"Isn't there some way to keep lematya cubs out of the garden?" Amanda asked.

Sarek shrugged. "The little ones do get through. They are close enough in scanner readings to other Vulcanoid forms that preventing their access would be disruptive to the ecosystem as a whole. And at that stage, they are harmless."

She shivered. "Their mothers aren't"

"She was outside the perimeter."

"And I bet she was furious enough to breach it, even through the forcefields."

"There were several guards ready to stun her if she tried."

"She was a tagged lematya," Sondt added, "one resident in this area for many years. She was well aware of the perimeter, and no doubt expected her cub to be released. She knew there are no predators within the gardens, and that we would not hurt it. Her screams were mostly frustration that she could not get to it, and because her cub was crying."

"Amanda, do not be distressed. She will keep that cub far from the gardens, in future. As it should be."

Amanda sighed. She'd never been quite sanguine about the idea of violent predators outside her door, but it was another part and parcel of life on Vulcan. "Anyone want breakfast?"

Sarek perked up immediately, "Indeed." Even Sondt looked tempted. She supposed hunting lematya was hungry work.

"I have breakfasted," Sondt admitted, "but I would take some tea."

Sarek ate hungrily, and Sondt, lured by his clan leader's example, succumbed to blueberry muffins. The blueberries were real, but the muffins weren't what Terrans would consider muffins, as much fruit as batter, and that with no added sweetener. Over the years, Amanda had adapted almost all her recipes to Vulcan tastes, and they had largely become her tastes as well. But today, she sipped tea and watched them, her own stomach still unsettled by nervousness from listening to the lematya's fury, a mere fence and forcefield from her husband.

Sometimes she wondered if she would **ever** get used to life on Vulcan.

Hunger appeased, Sarek was looking at her, frowning slightly. Her eye widened a little at that expression that so recently had meant trouble for her.

"You did not eat breakfast, my wife."

She let out a relieved breath. Freed or not, she had yet to get used to not entirely quailing under her husband's even slightly disapproving gaze. And today she had errands to run and newly freed as she was, even the thought of going outside the gates, on her own, robbed her of appetite. At times, on the outside, she was fine. And then there were times when the world seemed an awfully big place, and she seemed out of place in it. She reminded herself she'd been released only a few days. She was bouncing back with remarkable speed, a few frowns aside. "I ate while you were freeing the cub."

Sarek eyed her, knowing her well enough to be entirely unconvinced.

"Scout's honor." She put up a hand, lying through her teeth, without a qualm of conscience, since she'd never been a scout. It was either that or have Sarek stand over her until she did eat breakfast. He might have recovered from _vrie_, but he was still overprotective, and he had developed the idea that she had lost too much weight in the last six months. And had taken to urging her to eat, as if she could make it up in a few days. Well, she had lost a little, but she rather liked it and was in no hurry to gain anything back. Besides, he should look in a mirror and see himself. And she was not nagging him with every bite, something she'd never found an inducement to appetite. "I ate a big breakfast." _Sometime in my life anyway_.

Sarek gave her a look askance, not fooled for an instant, but polite enough not to question her veracity before a guest. To her relief, he forbore to pursue the matter. "I must prepare for Council. What are your plans for today, my wife?"

She wondered at the change in her life that Sarek was asking her, with real interest, what she planned to do, when a few weeks ago, she was forbidden to even think of doing almost everything. "I've got some meetings at the Academy. School starts in three days." She shivered a little. "I'm not nearly ready."

"Of course you are," Sarek rose. "You will 'catch up' as you say, very quickly. You always do."

Sondt rose too. She'd almost forgotten him. But rather than paying attention to their rather personal conversation, he was regarding the muffins remaining on the serving dish with a nearly wistful gaze. Amanda took pity on him, and wrapping them up, gave them to him before he walked out the door, waving aside his grave sentences of appreciation. Many Vulcans had developed a real taste for Terran foods, particularly low sugar fruit like berries. They'd become something of a fad. But they were prodigiously expensive in commerce. To put it bluntly, even Vulcans had something of a sweet tooth, but found it inconvenient to accommodate. And though he was surrounded by a virtual garden of such, Sondt was like most Vulcans, a stickler for honestly, and probably rarely so much as boosted a berry off a vine. They should have him in for dinner, or at least breakfast, once in a while.

The fortress was something like the Terran equivalent of a historic preservation site and had a staff that maintained it. She'd always left the Vulcan staff to Sarek's governance, and she had no idea what provisions he had made for their…provisions. Probably none because when the gardens had first begun, Vulcans looked askance at human foods, and no doubt the current staff wouldn't betray themselves by little more than a glance that things had changed. Perhaps she should talk to Sarek about making sure they had an allotment of the garden produce. It seemed a little unfair for Sondt to be responsible for the Fortress and for him not to have a share of the bounty it produced.

After a moment she dared to say so.

Sarek blinked and looked at her as if he'd never seen her before. And then he nodded, a Vulcan nod, a slight inclination of his head. "You are correct, my wife. I had not considered the staff's…tastes…might have changed. It was thoughtful of you to consider such. I will see to it."

She let out a relieved breath, still finding herself surprised that she had her Sarek back, in all respects.

"I must go," Sarek said, and gave her a questioning look.

"I'll be fine," she assured him. And leaned up and gave him a kiss. "For luck," she said.

"I did not think it was for logic, my wife," he teased back. And then took his own leave.

She straightened the kitchen and then flew up the stairs, to change for the Academy. At least today, if she looked a little nervous going out that fearsome gate, she could blame it on lematya.

And at that, she thought, _God bless lematya_. Perhaps there was something to be said for them after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 2**

**Stardate 2253.4 Vulcan**

On the morning of the Academy's new term, Sarek woke a few minutes before it was necessary. It was an important day. Today his wife would go back to teaching. Back to her former life in all respects.

He looked down at her with affection…and concern. She had been working too hard. Trying to catch up, and trying too, to leap past the barrier of six months of chattel behavior. And she was succeeding, but it was taking a toll on her. She looked tired, and she was still too thin.

A faint haze of perspiration covered her body and Sarek drew back away from her, to let her cool. She told him often, teasingly, that he was like a furnace. But she still slept curled against him every night, in spite of the warmth of the room and the warmth of his skin. Years ago, he had wanted to air condition the house to human standards, and Amanda had refused, saying she would prefer to acclimate. He had done so anyway, but Amanda refused to use it at all in winter, and kept it on a minimal setting in summer. And acclimate she had – far better than he, in spite of his Vulcan controls.

He drew up a corner of the sheet and ran it across her brow, and down her body, and she sighed, and stretched without waking, a murmur in her throat. And he realized anew she had, even asleep, taking his gesture as a prelude to lovemaking, and became aware himself of the sensual feel of the sheets around him, and shifted, resisting their lure. Today they were cotton velvet, one of his favorites. Not that Amanda had done that deliberately, she alternated them more or less randomly.

It was he who had come to enjoy the feel of the different textures against his skin. But it was Amanda who had innocently introduced him to them….

**Stardate 2230.1 Terra**

They'd just been married, and he'd been …suffering…that was the only word for it, in the Terran ambient temperature he'd newly imposed on his quarters. To put it bluntly, he had been frozen all day. Outside the Vulcan embassy in Geneva snow had been falling thickly, and the cold damp seemed to permeate even climate controlled buildings. He sometimes wondered why Terrans didn't have gills, having evolved on a world of mostly water, where water in various forms poured down from the sky, not merely during rainy seasons, or expected periods but at almost daily intervals. A most inhospitable world.

He'd been accustomed, upon a day spent in frigid Terran rooms, to the warm haven of his own quarters after business hours. It had been a sharp physical shock, in spite of his setting the environmental controls himself, to return to rooms as cold - or even colder, for some of his contacts tried to accommodate Vulcan needs - than those he had left.

He had only tensed, but Amanda had shivered.

"It's cold in here. Don't you feel it?"

He looked down at her, almost too cold to think. "We have been told that sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit is an optimal temperature for humans."

"Yes, for humans. In business meetings where you're wrapped up in layers of formal clothing. Aren't you cold?" She looked at him closely, and her eyes widened. "You're shivering!"

He drew up, surprised and a little hurt that his own wife would point out a flaw in his physiological control. "I am not."

"Of all the silly …" she crossed to the environmental controls and turned up the heat with a vengeance. He'd been about to protest and then, as the pure bliss of warmth enveloped him, after a day of holding himself against Earth's relentless winter, he'd just relaxed into it.

"I thought Vulcans were beyond macho behavior." She said, coming back to him. "That was singularly stupid, my husband. You don't need to do that again."

He eyed her. "Now you will be too warm."

"Not at all. Humans are infinitely adaptable. I hardly ever use air conditioning in the summer. I hate it. And I don't like being cold any more than you do. Anyway, if I am going to Vulcan, I had better start adapting now, don't you think?"

The warmth of the room was clearing his mind, previously so distracted with dealing with physical discomfort and he was able to consider matters more logically. But he was a little confused by her phrasing. "If?"

"Since. When. It was a hypothetical question."

"There is nothing hypothetical about your going to Vulcan. It is a fact."

She sighed. "Rhetorical, I meant."

"Indeed."

"You should take a hot shower, and go to bed. What good will it do me to marry you, if you die of pneumonia before we even go to Vulcan?"

Finally comfortable, he drew a deep breath and relaxed completely. And looked down at her, amused at the latter. "I am immune to most Terran diseases so that rhetorical question has no bearing. As for the rest…no, to the shower. I still prefer sonics. But, after that…" he reached down and slid a finger down her cheekbone, the lightest of touches. "Yes to bed."

She blushed, a phenomenon he found intriguing, her behavior in regard to this subject equal parts bold and shy. He'd been considerably …apprehensive …about this aspect of their relationship before their marriage. Vulcans did not practice premarital sex. Sarek found the idea of such intimacy outside of a bond impossible. But to take the risky step of bonding without empirical proof of that compatibility had been a leap of faith for both of them.

He had been well pleased with the result. His control had held, and the dreaded specter of harming her not only had not come to pass, but he had …fulfilled her. And himself. He had in fact enjoyed himself, found far more pleasure in mating than he had ever considered possible. The freedom to indulge in that passion, finally and at last, was quite delightful. He almost found it difficult to restrain his passions to attend to his duties. In fact he found the concept of a "honeymoon", a period where one apparently did nothing but engage in such relations, understandable now, whereas before it had seemed one more example of Terran excesses. He had much to learn of her, and he felt the press of time. He could not be sure when his first _Pon Far_ would overtake him. If he followed the pattern of most Vulcan males, it probably was no less than a year away. Hardly time to learn her well enough that he felt safe subjecting her to the fever. He would not see her hurt.

After a sonic shower took away the last vestiges of cold, he watched her finish brushing her hair and then come to bed, clad in one of the light gowns she wore at this time. He granted that it was a pretty gown, but he didn't understand the purpose of wearing a gown to bed, only to have him remove it moments later. And as pleasurable as the events after the removal, and she certainly didn't resist him as he did so, he didn't like the unspoken barrier the gown represented. It was unseemly in a wife.

"Perhaps now that the room is warm enough, you will no longer find the need to wear clothing to bed," he suggested as she settled against him.

She looked up at him in surprise. "Does it displease you?"

Sarek hesitated making an unqualified affirmative. Displease was such a strong word, and not a feeling akin to anything he felt for his wife's doings. "It is merely…not suitable…for a wife to wear garments in a bed chamber."

Amanda considered that, eyes wide. "Never?"

Sarek conceded with a raised brow.

"Really." She was startled at this. "I didn't know. We didn't talk about this."

"No. It would never occur to me, it seems such a …nonsensical act."

"'_Please don't eat the daises'_," she murmured, looking down at her gown. "I guess daisies come in all forms."

"My wife?"

"Nothing. Just another nonsensical act."

Sarek felt a touch of relief that the subject had been raised. "Is it taboo in your culture, not to do so?"

She looked up at him. "No. Oh, no. In my culture, pretty much anything goes between consenting adults in private quarters. However, such clothing is common. A traditional gift, both from friends and family to a bride upon her marriage and from husband to wife." She shrugged one shoulder lightly. "I plead cultural blindness and confess I didn't even think about it. Human men generally like to see their wives in such clothes."

"Only to remove them moments later?"

"Yes. Though sometimes they are not removed, just…pushed aside."

Sarek couldn't stop an expression of disgust from crossing his face at that image, and Amanda laughed. "You did not say it was a taboo of yours!"

"Not taboo, but I find it incomprehensible to engage in intimate acts wearing clothing." He was beginning to undo the tiny froglike loops down the front of her gown. She thought to tell him it was unnecessary, easier to pull the gown over her head, but the feel of his hands, the quiet intent as he undid each loop with studied Vulcan concentration stole the breath from her lungs. "These gowns were marriage gifts?"

She shrugged. "Most, yes." She rolled her eyes, thinking of the teasing behavior of some of her friends when they realized she was really going through with marriage to a logical Vulcan. And wondered who had the joke on whom looking at his dark head bent over his task, crisp curls freer after his shower when he didn't bother to smooth his hair into accepted Vulcan lines. The sound of his voice that seemed to echo deep inside her, the feel of his strong fingers sliding under each silken loop through the silk of her gown, the burning brand of his bare skin against hers. She had to shake her head to clear it enough to continue her answer. "It is traditional that a bride come with a trousseau of such things. And friends and family provide them – part of the bridal "shower" of gifts. Let us say, I got my share," she smiled, "most of which I haven't unpacked." _Given that I only wear a nightgown for about five minutes_

"Perhaps, as you will not be needing them," Sarek finished the last loop with an exasperated air of _that's done_, and looked down at her meaningfully, "you can give them back, to be gifted to another."

"Oh, I couldn't do that." She looked up at him, seeing him blink in astonishment at her refusal. "Only because, if I did, people would conclude from such an action that we had found ourselves unsuited. That there was no intimacy between us."

"They would extrapolate such a conclusion based on -" He was shocked enough to pause in drawing her gown back from her body, "that I do not choose to have you wear clothing to bed? Does human intimacy require it?"

He was clearly astonished at the idea. It was hard for her to remember how she had once thought him inscrutable. Now she could read almost every nuance of his expressions. "No, to the second. But yes to the first. They would think it was because you did not find me desirable."

"It is the **clothing** I can do well without, my wife. It is a tedious hindrance to desire. And having indicated my displeasure to such, I trust you will no longer wear such obstacles, however easily disposed of." He laid her down. "I wonder how humans can consider them a facilitator of desire, rather than the opposite."

"I won't anymore. As for humans, they find it difficult to think outside the conventions of their own culture. If I gave the gowns back, or away, they'd draw negative conclusions."

"You said it was not taboo," Sarek paused, reminding her, a faint line between his brows.

"It's not, but even humans who don't usually wear such clothes to bed find them appropriate and desirable at certain times."

"And what times are these?"

She sighed. "Romantic times. Honeymoons, wedding anniversaries, Valentine's Day-"

"Valentine's?"

"A day which celebrates romance between lovers."

Sarek looked truly pole-axed now, clearly struggling to understand. "And on days such as these, meant to honor intimate relationships, human males prefer their wives…clothed." He said it slowly, as if somehow that would help clarify the point of view.

She knew she must be going crazy, because she was beginning to share his confusion. "It's illogical, I know."

"Indeed." He shook his head, giving up the subject. "It is not merely humans who find it difficult to think outside their conventions. I find incomprehensible any beings wishing to keep their wives always dressed, even in intimate circumstances." He drew her under him, slid the offending gown from underneath them both, glad this would be the last time he had to deal with such tedium, and tossed the confection of silk and lace across the room. For all his studied lack of expression, his manner said as plain as day that he was glad he didn't have to bother with _that _again. She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling outright at his profound relief. "It is not a sentiment I share," he continued. He ran a hand up her inner thigh, enjoying the feel of a silk that was infinitely preferable, that of her delicate skin.

She drew a sharp breath at the feel of that hand, and didn't think twice about a future life sans all nightgowns. "You **are** wicked, my husband."

He had already learned that word, in this context, meant his wife was delighted and pleased with his ardor. "Very wicked, my wife. Let me show you how much."

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 3**

The next morning, Sarek came back into their bedroom from taking a priority call and looked at his wife. In spite of the warmth of the room, she was wearing warm and very casual clothes, a heavy knitted sweater, jeans, sneakers. She had pulled her hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck. Next to her were a navy coat, scarf, gloves and a hat that he had never seen before.

"Amanda?"

"Hi. I'm going out. Shopping. Incognito."

"Indeed." He tilted his head, studying her. "Why must you be…incognito?"

"To give those press hounds – I looked out and saw there was still a pack of them by the main gate- the slip. If I go out the back, with the morning shift change, head down, bundled up, no one will be the wiser. I've done it before. These are my alternate ID clothes. You'll never see me go out the main gate, or as me, in these."

Sarek considered that. Every being had an aura, and as a telepath, Sarek would recognize hers regardless of her clothing. How strange were humans to be so dependent on a limited sense like vision.

"Not that even this disguise will last forever. When summer comes and I can't bundle up, that will be a new challenge, though I hope and expect they'll have moved onto other targets by then. Or if some event should bring them back, I'll think of something else to sneak past them."

"You speak as if you were some sort of quarry," he said, puzzled.

"Where **have **you been all this time?" She looked at him in astonishment, then shrugged. "I suppose you don't watch the scandal news. Neither do I. But unlike you, I haven't been living under heavy guard. And I can assure you that I, if not we, have been their bread and butter lately. Meaning that they will sell more news services if they run stories and video about us, or at least me."

"Why?"

She hesitated, looking at him. "I think that requires a longer discussion than you have time for. And one I'm not sure I can explain too well myself. And as you say, you have meetings. Suffice to say, that as to the nature of the press and myself, your analysis is correct. I am a sort of quarry, for them, right now."

"Indeed. I was not aware. My encounters with the press while occasionally …unpleasant… have at least been …civilized." He hesitated, then qualified. "Somewhat. Certainly nothing I would consider requiring a disguise."

"You deal with the legitimate press. Under **very** controlled conditions. That's not the sort that has been after me. But I've gotten very good at this these last months. Don't worry."

"This is your world, my wife," he said, a frown between his brows. "I would not presume to tell you how to behave on it." Though it came to him, watching her as she completed her…disguise, that this was precisely what he wished he could do.

"I'm glad I have such a sensible husband." She put up her face to be kissed.

He kissed her, wondering why he had the impression she regarded him as just the opposite. And a little wondering at himself, that he had fallen so quickly, and so easily, into this human gesture. In public, in the embassy, in front of Vulcans, she responded appropriately to the two fingered touch of bondmates. They had made no public appearances as bondmates before humans yet, had both been avoiding them. He sensed she was a little shy at the prospect. And before they did, they would have to discuss how to manage them, what behavior was proper. But in private, she was just as likely to wrap her arms around him and hug him. Her passions were almost as Vulcan strong as his. At present, in private, it was easier to…kiss her. But there were things he had to explain to her. So many things. He sometimes felt overwhelmed by them, by how he was to acquaint his wife with a culture – and a world – she had not even seen. And in so short a time.

Yet it was easier, for now, to kiss her.

"I'll be back…oh, early this afternoon. Wish me luck."

"Luck?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Then wish me logic, my husband. I'm not proud."

But she was out the door before he could wish her either.

xxx

He had forgotten all about her shopping trip when he returned that evening. The rooms were again, blissfully, almost Vulcan warm in spite of the unpleasant sight of more snow falling outside. He found his wife working on her portable computer. She was dressed in very light clothes, and a portable fan blew strands of her loose hair back from her shoulders. She was concentrating so deeply, she had not heard him enter, and he watched her a moment, almost enviously. She was not teaching now, they had been married during an interstice between terms, but she also wrote papers, and prepared in other ways. As had he, for at one time, he too had had an academic career at the Vulcan Science Academy before family duties had required his assumption of his father's role as diplomat. Diplomacy was not his chosen profession; he bore more than a few regrets for the tedium of his imposed profession over the one he had originally chosen. But then if he had stayed on Vulcan, he would not have met her. On balance, a more than even trade.

He went and ordered a meal. The arrival of it roused her, and she came into the main room of their suite, stretching a little. "Oh good. I am starving. Running from reporters does give one an appetite."

He paused in beginning his own meal, fixing her with a sharp gaze, a line between his brows, alertness in every line of his body. "You were required to run?"

"I meant figuratively, not literally." She assured him, though she sensed he was not entirely appeased, looking at her thoughtfully as she continued, "Well, at least not much. I was ingenious enough again to avoid the main crush. But I did get noticed by a few, sneaking back in. I got busted. Caught." She elucidated.

"Caught." Sarek frowned.

"Not physically. By the time the recognized me, I was nearly in, and then I did outrun them. But only for a dozen yards or so, and then I was past the security and home free. But **that** disguise and that tactic, won't serve me again. I'm going to have to think of something else. And those crazies at the front gate make it even harder. I never cared before what the neighbors would think but they are an unruly group."

"Neighbors?

"Just an expression. It refers to public opinion."

"Indeed." He hesitated, somewhat daunted by her colloquialisms and not quite sure what to make of them. After a moment he shelved his concerns, deciding that based on her blithe manner, she had not been in serious danger. "How went your …shopping?"

"You will tell me that later."

He glanced at her, not sure what she meant. And abandoned **that **topic. It was, indeed, sometimes easier to kiss her.

It was not until later, pleasurably anticipating those activities, that he discovered the purpose of her shopping. He had pulled the cover off their bed, and pulled back the top sheet, his hand brushing against the fabric, and he stopped, staring down at it. "What is this?"

"What I went shopping for. In winter, humans do all manner of things to keep warm. I'm surprised that no one mentioned such things to your advance staff.

"Vulcans can control their physiology."

"Right," she said, unimpressed. "I think yesterday blasted that little myth. Anyway, I thought some flannel sheets might be in order."

"These are…flannel?"

"No, actually, I found more than I expected. These are cotton velour. I thought they'd be even warmer." She ran a hand over them herself. "Like velvet, aren't they?"

"The texture is very pleasing."

"I'm glad you like them. They ought to be warm, with a nap like that. And I got fleece ones too, as cuddly as a set of Dr. Denton pjs."

"What are pjs?"

She smiled. "What I'm not allowed to wear to bed. Pajamas. Nightclothes," she elucidated. "But with a thick, plush texture. Traditionally used for children."

"Ah."

"I got a set of flannel sheets too. You can try them all, and let me know what you like best. And it is a good thing I am not wearing gowns, because these are warm enough that between you and them, I'll going to be toast by the time the night is over."

"Toast." Sarek echoed the word, and shook his head, mystified. "Like the breakfast food?"

"You are so right, my husband. Warmed on both sides."

He raised his brows at that image, and pulled her down against him. The feel of the velvet against his skin and the silk of her skin against his made him understand something of her reference. And rapidly caused him to lose any desire for control. "Are you sure you purchased these…just for warmth?"

"Oh." Her eyes widened, "Is it like that?" She blushed, smiling. "My motives were pure in intention, my husband. But I admit," she ran a loose fold of sheet against his skin, causing him to draw himself up to keep some control. "They do have advantages I had not considered in my originally altruistic motives."

"Indeed. You are wicked as well, my wife."

"I confess to that, my husband. But I am all yours, so …" she leaned forward and kissed him. "There's no need to be shy. I don't bite. At least, not much." She nipped his lower lip lightly.

It was as if a supernova hit him, the emotions overwhelming him. Still unused to being newly married, newly bonded, and bonded to an emotional human wife, at that, he was unskilled at handling his own emotions in this regard. Certainly not this kind of assertiveness, that was totally uncharacteristic for a Vulcan bondmate. He drew her body under his, took her wrists in one hand, pulling them over her head and pinning her fully, and covered her. He just…barely…avoided taking her as well. With her safely pinned, immobilized, he drew a deep shuddering breath and fought his way through green flame back to some semblance of control.

Amanda was staring at him, utterly astonished. "Whoa!" It was an exclamation, not a command, but it halted him just as effectively even though he didn't understand the reference. "What did I do?"

He still said nothing for a moment, breathing deeply, striving for the calm to speak to her rationally.

"Sarek?"

"I am sorry, my wife." He looked down at her, but did not risk releasing her yet. "I did not hurt you, did I?"

"No. Just startled me. What happened here?"

He slowly released the lock he had on her and drew back. She sat up, equally cautiously, rubbing her wrists and eyeing him.

"Vulcans…can respond somewhat…precipitously…in reaction to aggression. Particularly in situation where our emotions have been given some free rein. As with a bondmate."

"I wasn't being aggressive, I was just…" her brow cleared. "You mean that little nip?"

He nodded, shamefaced.

She was stunned. "Wow. It is a good thing I didn't try that-" she drew a deep breath herself. "I am sorry if I frightened you."

"Amanda." He shook his head in amazement as such a misconception on her part. He looked down at her small frame and arched an eyebrow "You did not frighten me." He held her eyes with his, letting her sense the truth of that and she colored again. "It is merely that aggression with a bondmate can trigger aggression in kind."

"But I wasn't being aggressive. I was just-"

"I understand. But I am not human male. What would be …safe…to do with a human is not safe with me. I am much stronger than you and have not mastered full control around you yet. You are not a Vulcan female – you are far more …fragile. And you have seen how …volatile... my reactions can be when I lose control."

"You didn't hurt me. And I'm stronger than I look."

"Nevertheless, a Vulcan bondmate would not choose to risk rousing aggression in her spouse. As I have no wish to hurt you, that is something, you had best not do again – at least not until I am more familiar with my responses to you. It is not how a Vulcan wife would behave."

She lowered her eyes, considering this, a bit chastened and hurt by the comparison. "That I am not Vulcan should hardly be a surprise to you."

"Nor do I expect you to behave as such, in most things. But there are some things you should know."

"We haven't exactly talked about this. How would one behave?"

He hesitated, considering her. "I had intended…eventually…to show you this."

"Eventually?" She raised wide eyes to him. "Is it so very different?"

"Not different…so much as-" he hesitated, finding it difficult to explain such a private act in words. "If you wish, I will show you now."

She nodded.

"Lie back. Lie **still**," he added. "And just relax."

"Lie still? And relax?" She looked up at him in astonishment.

"Precisely." He watched as she settled into the velvet sheets, hands at her sides, eyeing him. He drew a deep breath, marshalling his control, and reaching down, began a caress, feather light, over her temples, her brows. He had been so…longing…to do this Vulcan style.

In five minutes he had yet to move from the edges of her face. He brushed her cheekbones, the curve of her ears, the tips of her lashes, slowly, with a deep relish, so long had he denied himself this …license… to treat her entirely as a Vulcan woman. Her eyes were wide and she was visibly trembling, her hands no longer relaxed but clenched into fists with the effort not to move. "Sarek," she whispered.

"Relax," he murmured, "we have just begun, my wife."

She whimpered, and before catching the sob in her throat. "Oh…my…god..."

He shook his head, not wishing her to speak, not really hearing her, steeling himself for tracing her lips with his fingers. He wasn't sure he could stop himself from kissing her at that point, his desire torn between Vulcan and more direct human methods. He drew a finger lightly between her brows, between her eyes, down the bridge of her nose, flicking it off the tip. Prepared to move to her lips. And looked down in astonishment as his wife's tension suddenly broke into giggles as his fingers lifted from the tip of her nose.

"Amanda?"

"I'm sorry." She drew a deep breath, trying to choke them back.

"**Relax**, my wife." He reproved, surprised at her reaction, eying her firmly until she stilled herself. But his curiosity at her unexpected reaction made him repeat the caress. And he watched, dumbfounded while she broke into giggles again, rolling to one side, holding her sides as she laughed out her tension.

"Amanda!"

"I'm sorry. It's just so incongruous. **That** particular touch, at such a time as this."

"Why is it incongruous?" He didn't understand her; she had certainly felt desire up until this point. He had been pleased and relieved at that.

"For humans, it is something a parent might do to tease a child, or even a lover, but as a sort of … teasing reproof. It's not an …an amorous touch. Not such as you were intending."

"Indeed. Amanda, I thought we had agreed—"

"I'm sorry. I'll try again." She laid back, hands back at her sides, not relaxed but at least lying quietly, forcing her face to some sort of composure. Which did not last. He no sooner raised his hand, not even touching her, when she descended into giggles.

He dropped it, frustrated. And then became amused himself, watching her laugh herself out. "You are impossible, my wife. A child would have better control."

"A child is **right**. If you treat me like one, what do you expect? I thought I was doing pretty well, until that. It makes me feel about five years old." She sat up, and wiped the tears of laughter from her cheeks. "Come, let's try again. I do want to be a-" her lips twitched, "a proper Vulcan wife." She broke into laughter, and rolled to one side again, shaking her head. "Oh, my god. I never expected this. Do I have to lie still while you tickle me, too?"

"I think not," he said dryly.

She looked up at him, stricken. "Oh, don't be mad. Look, I'll be serious. Honestly." She lay back down, her lower lip between her teeth, as if ready to nip herself if she laughed again.

"Amanda." He shook his head in exasperation. "Not **that** serious."

"I didn't mean to break the mood." She reached out and took his hand, bringing it to her lips and kissed each fingertip, while he drew a sharp breath. She looked up at him. "It was…quite a mood."

"My moods are not so easily broken," he traced her lips with his finger, then drew her under him, giving himself up to that near equal pleasure, reveling in the feel of the velvet sheets under him and that of her in them, under him. He looked down at her. "And anger is most definitely not what I feel for you, my wife. We will try it again. But not tonight. Between these sheets, your nip and this," he touched his finger to the tip of her nose, half smiling at her renewed smile. "I do not have the …patience…tonight, to see you properly instructed in such behaviors. After all, we have plenty of time."

"Ummm," she wrapped her arms around him, human style. "Have I mentioned that I love you?"

"Not yet this evening," Sarek murmured. "But words are so…inadequate… for such sentiments."

"Oh?"

"Perhaps you might show me." He flicked a finger off the tip of her nose. "Sans…giggles."

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 4**

When Sarek woke the next morning, the first thing that came to him, beyond the utter joy of feeling her against him, was the sensuous feel of the velvet against his skin. He didn't wait for her to awaken naturally, but kissed her awake, and before she was even fully awake, had drawn her under him and made love to her. Defiantly human style. At times like these, he didn't care one whit for Vulcan traditions, or Vulcan necessities and he banished, at least for the moment, the specter of _Pon Far_ to some distant, far distant, and irrelevant future.

"Wow," Amanda said, when he had finished both of them, and she was catching her breath. "To what do I owe that, after my fiasco last night?"

"To you." Sarek kissed her again, then drew back reluctantly. "I have meetings today," he half growled, and went to shower and dress.

She laughed. "Maybe we should have taken a real honeymoon." She called to him, and lay back lazily.

He came back from his shower, studying her curiously. "I remind you that you have not married a human. A month of such mornings would not still my passion."

"Lucky me," she sat up. "So you liked my gift?" she flung aside the sheet.

"Very much."

"So do I. I prefer not to see my husband a lime popsicle in the morning." She laughed again as if at some private joke, and shook her head. "I am wicked. Well, I'll put the fleece ones on for tonight. You might like those even better. Seeing as how we were both behaving rather like five year olds at one point last night, fleece is **definitely **what we need."

"I had no idea humans had developed such a variety of bed coverings," Sarek said, watching her change the sheets. He came over and ran a hand, eyes widening, over the replacement. And looked down at her, her limbs still bare, skin flushed, from his recent attentions. "If I had not meetings, I would not wait for tonight. We still have some …unfinished business in that regard."

"Humans are ingenious." She eyed him. "But I think Vulcans aren't far behind us. I can't wait."

"Indeed." Sarek tore his eyes from her, and lowered them to the sheet under his fingertips. "Which do you prefer, my wife?"

"Which-" For a moment she was flabbergasted and then she connected their two disparate conversations. "Oh, you meant the sheets." she blinked, "At home, I mostly have jacquard."

"**This** is your home," Sarek said, frowning slightly. "Now."

"I meant," she shook her head. "You know what I meant."

"Yes." He put her disquieting remark down to the imprecision of the language. "What is jacquard?"

"A weaving process, where patterns are woven into a damask-like fabric. Heavy cotton, silk or satin. Floral, geometric, stripe. They're very soft, but you can feel the patterns against your skin."

"Indeed." Sarek considered this, brows rising, intrigued. "Interesting. I would like to try your choice as well. Your first was certainly …warmer. Much warmer."

She turned to him, astonished at his play on words, something he was not known to do. He raised an eyebrow archly.

"You are **very** wicked, my husband."

"Indeed." He kissed her again, then put her from him reluctantly. "Go shopping. Get one of each."

Her laugh was cut short by a summons at the outer door of their suite. Sarek went to answer it, and Amanda went to shower and dress.

With another shopping trip in mind, and mindful of fact she might need to outrun a few paparazzi, she'd dressed in jeans and sneakers again, was brushing her hair, trying to think of a good way to disguise herself, and thinking with some amusement, the best disguise would be as a Vulcan, when Sarek came back in. He glanced at her, and said, "Amanda, can you come with me? This concerns you."

She followed him, to discover two Federation Security officers out there. They rose when she entered. One appeared brash and direct, complete with military swagger. The other gray and silent, thin and nondescript, had the appearance of a clerk.

After they were introduced, she asked, "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"I understand you went out of the Embassy compound yesterday."

She stared at him, not mistaking the touch of hostility in his manner. And she thought she understood its cause. She'd discovered very few people were…neutral to what she had done. Some regarded her marriage to Sarek as if it were some sort of ultimate Cinderella story. Those people could at times be tiresome, but were not really a problem. Some regarded her with shock and disdain, as if there were something wrong with her. And some human men regarded her as if her choosing a Vulcan was an affront to all human men, a sort of cultural traitor. She'd developed a kind of radar for these attitudes, and she sensed he was one of those. "I hardly think that is any of your concern."

"Actually, it is. Very much so. We've gone through quite a crush assembling your security detail, but it isn't quite ready yet. We'd appreciate it if you stayed in the compound until it is. And never again pull any of the kind of tricks you did yesterday."

"What do you mean, tricks?" her eyes narrowed.

"Evading Federation Security is a serious matter. We understand you're …young," his eyes roved over her jean clad figure, and gave Sarek a look as if it confirmed him a cradle robber while she bridled, "and this is all very new to you. But believe me, it is best if you cooperate and work with us in the future. Your team has been handpicked, the lead comes highly recommended, pulled off the detail for the Federation president's daughter. But we can't help you if you deliberately circumvent us."

"Now wait just a minute. With all due respect to the President's daughter, you can give her favorite guard back to her. I don't want him."

"Her. Carry Phillips. She's in some final training, but should be here tomorrow afternoon. She's fully qualified, trained in twelve different martial arts-"

"Good for her. **I** won't be needing them. Or her."

The officer frowned. "I'm afraid I disagree."

"I think you must be confused. **I'm** not a diplomat. I'm just a teacher."

"And now also the wife of a Federation Ambassador."

She drew up a little. It came to her, to everyone in the room that she hadn't quite looked at herself in that light.

"Surely you must have been aware that would be a benefit of your decision. The attention, the clamor, those are the positives."

"You consider the media frenzy that's surrounded me any sort of benefit? I consider it far rather the reverse."

"If you really don't like it, then you should welcome our assistance. And you will need it for the true negative side of all this, you are also now a target."

"If I needed help with the press, it would have been before I got married, when they were camped out forty deep outside my door. And as for scaring me with words like target, all I can say, is that I've been dealing with all this for months. It is a little late to pop up now and start playing the heavy."

"Technically, we're only responsible for providing security for Federation level dignitaries and their dependents. We have no legal responsibility for …fiancés."

She bristled at that. "Thank heavens for red tape. I managed just fine dealing with the press who hounded me night and day, the calls and messages from sickos who wanted to tie me down and kill me slowly, to make me appreciate the error of my ways-"

Giletti flinched. "If you ever get any more messages like that, you need to let us know."

"It's sweet of you to care," she shot back. "Now. But as I said, a little late." She rose. "I'm sure, being so highly placed in Federation Security, you can find your own way out."

"Amanda."

Sarek had been so quiet, she had forgotten he was there. She started as her put a hand on her shoulder, the other on her wrist, drawing her back down into a chair. Then stood behind her, placing the other hand on her shoulder, and left both of them there, casually and effectively trapping her under his hands. He so rarely touched her in public, his gentle restraint now was as effective as a force field. "I think we should listen to this further."

"Thank you, Ambassador." Giletti drew a deep breath. "I'm afraid this is not negotiable. Federation Security is now responsible for your safety. And you **will **need to-"

The overbearing manner short-circuited her temper. "Are you not hearing what I am saying? Are we not speaking English?" She looked from Giletti to Sarek. "I'll say it in whatever language I need to. And it's non-negotiable to me too. The answer is no. No overbearing phaser-toting Federation G-man is going to follow me around and tell me what I can and can't do!"

"Look, you can cooperate or you can't, but we are dealing with credible threats, here." Giletti was exasperated. "Credible threats. Your-" he swallowed whatever word he'd almost used, "situation has created a whole new security issue for us, one we've yet to completely evaluate. We're used to dealing with anti-Federation humanists, but not with this new anti-miscegenistic element. And it's taking us a little time to get up to speed. And sneaking out of the compound-"

"Sneaking!"

"My officers will still be responsible for you no matter how you behave. Even if you don't give a damn for your own life, I resent it if your behavior gets one or more of them killed."

She drew a sharp breath. "What do you mean?"

"I said **credible** threats."

"What sort of threats?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"It's **my** life they're threatening and you can't tell me?"

"You don't have the security clearance."

She shook her head, exasperated. "Oh, for - Is this _Alice in Wonderland_ or are we in the real world?"

"Believe me, this is real."

She stared at him, and shook her head. "You expect me, without any evidence, without knowing a thing about you, to let you dictate to me how I'm going to live? That's not my nature."

He looked, just briefly, from her to Sarek. "It would seem that it is."

She rose, shrugging off Sarek's hands on her shoulders, furious. "That's enough. This interview is over."

"Damn it-"

The other security guard suddenly rose. Giletti flushed and abruptly subsided, while the other looked at her straightforwardly. "Dr. Grayson. Forgive my colleague. Please. Sit down."

She had at first taken this silent man for a clerk, a subordinate, but now he'd changed his aura from a cipher to one of command. Now it was the colleague who subsided, flushed and embarrassed, while the other dominated the room, from dark to light, like a flaring star. That he could switch modes so quickly, and so absolutely marked him as an experienced, high level security analyst. An agent. And his attitude was professionally reserved – he might have shared his colleague's disdain of her, but if he did no one would know of it. Perhaps not even himself. A consummate security agent, soldier, spy. She didn't find that reassuring, in fact, she was less comfortable in his presence than in his colleague's, whom she could despise. She was well aware she was out of her element here.

"Amanda."

Sarek's voice. She flinched, having almost forgotten him, glanced from him to the agent, saw he was in agreement on this. A look passed between Sarek and this man, once of meaning, and she realized they were acquainted, indeed in league on this. She found herself letting Sarek draw her back down to her seat, his hands once again firmly on her shoulders. She looked up, feeling suddenly beleaguered. Surrounded on all sides. And she wasn't just out of her element, she was out of her league.

"I don't want a guard." She'd meant to sound firm, and was shocked at how that it came out half plaintive. She looked up at the men standing over her, none of whom she'd known three months before, and now who were all telling her how to live her life. Perhaps Giletti had a point. She shifted slightly under her husband's hands. As if recognizing her unease, Sarek moved to sit beside her, taking her hand. He almost never did that in public. She looked down at her hand in his, looked at him, and then back up, as the other agent almost moved to sit across from her.

"Dr. Grayson. My colleague misspoke. Federation level protection isn't meant to restrict your freedom. Not at all. Merely to ensure your safety."

She swallowed hard and tried to ease her hand out from Sarek's, well aware his culture didn't approve of such in public. He didn't let go. She drew a breath and tried to calm herself, deal with the situation rationally. "Perhaps that's the intent. I suspect the reality is quite different."

Revierre continued. "Certainly, there will be some…new considerations. Concessions. You have been dealing with some of that already, and it's admirable how well you have dealt with it, given you have no training and no experience. And while so far your….efforts…have been largely successful, some of the groups we are dealing with are not amateurs. And I am sure you appreciate – certainly your husband would – that your safety deserves more than your sole amateur efforts. Eventually you **will **get caught. You were almost caught yesterday, and in a manner that …deeply concerned some of our security staff. You were …fortunate."

Sarek's fingers tightened on hers and he gave her a sharp, accusing look. She flushed.

"To be caught even by the paparazzi press can be a frightening and dangerous experience. Yet bad as that could be for you, we are concerned with far more than that."

She looked down, feeling mulish. "As I said, it's a little late. The press has been after me for months. And for weeks, it has been pretty intense. I've managed." She looked up. "I don't need Federation Security riding in on a white horse now."

"We owe you an apology for our late response to your situation. It hasn't come up before, and unfortunately we answer to a bureaucracy, and that can be slow to respond to new circumstances. However, we now have appropriate measures ready to implement. And as a dependent to a Federation Ambassador you now do come under our jurisdiction."

"I'm **not **a dependent."

"I apologize if you find the wording offensive. Anything but the principle," he glanced at Sarek, "is categorized as such. Regardless of the wording, as the spouse of a Federation level ambassador, you are covered by such protection, whenever you are not on your home world, or on assignment."

"I **am** on my home world."

"In this case, that means Vulcan."

She flushed at that, so taken aback she almost missed his next words.

"Your security detail is required to protect you, regardless of the choices you make."

"You're saying you have to protect me, even if I tell you that I don't **want** that protection?"

"Yes."

She stared at him in disbelief. "I'm still a Federation citizen. Don't I have any civil rights in this?"

"Your civil rights aren't being violated by having Federation protection. It isn't meant to compromise your freedom.."

"As far as I'm concerned, it does."

"Your protection detail isn't meant to prevent you from living your normal life."

"What kind of a normal life can I live, surrounded by guards?"

"What kind of a normal life are you living now?" He asked, and when she drew up at that, he said, "Tagged by fifty, a hundred, paparazzi? Even though those are the least of our concerns, you will need help having **any** freedom of movement now. They are on to your tricks. They've staked out all the entrances to the embassy, and at least for now, they aren't going away."

Amanda took back her hand from Sarek, lowering her head.

"Dr. Grayson. Your detail will deal with the paparazzi. You don't need to worry about that any longer. And in general, you won't find your movements too constrained by the necessities of Federation level protection. However, we are professionals," he glanced briefly at his associate, "most of us, and there are times when we will… make recommendations that we strongly urge you to take into consideration. Such as when we receive credible threats. I can assure you, Dr. Grayson, that **this** is one of those times." He hesitated, watching her struggle with this unwelcome news. "Probably as you say, one of those rare times. Right now you are in the media's eye, and such attention attracts all types of notice, some unwelcome. But you're well aware that the media's attention – and probably these other unwelcome interests – probably will move on. Consider taking a little precaution now, knowing that it hopefully won't be required at this level in the future." He studied her a moment. "I'm afraid if you choose to disregard those recommendations, we're required to protect you regardless."

"You mean I can't say no?"

"You can, certainly. But it will just make our jobs more difficult. You will get the protection, regardless."

"Oh," Amanda closed her eyes a moment, daunted by the prospect. How had her love, her marriage, come to this – being shadowed by guards where ever she went.

"Amanda?"

She looked up at Sarek and saw concern in his eyes. She'd forgotten he could sense something of what she was feeling through the bond, particularly when he'd had her hand in his. Not even her thoughts were her own anymore. She lowered her gaze, unhappy and resentful, and not willing to go into this with him before these guards. She looked over at them. "I need some time to consider this."

"Of course." Revierre rose. "However, I would request," he stressed the last word, "that if you intend to leave the compound today, you obtain an escort." He held up a hand as she drew a sharp breath. "I assure you the inconvenience will be slight." Seeing her subside, he added, "And tomorrow, if you would allow it, we could introduce you to your team. Once you've met them -"

"Whoa." She put up a hand. "I never said-"

"I'm sure you wouldn't want to make a final decision without having all the facts."

"You are railroading me."

"I don't think anyone could do that." He glanced at Sarek, and then back to her. "As you say, you need time to consider." He rose. "A great pleasure meeting you, Dr. Grayson. Ambassador, I'll see you this afternoon to go over those reports." They walked out of the room together.

"What reports?" she asked, when Sarek returned.

"My wife?"

"What reports is he going to go over with you?"

"Amanda-"

"Is it something about me? What do you know that you are not telling me?"

"Amanda, you do not, yet, have the security clearance for what you are asking."

She sighed. "This is a nightmare." She looked at him. "Did you know about this?"

"Until this morning? No. But I have found Revierre to be a thoughtful and intelligent associate and am willing to accept his assessment."

"What about his friend?"

"Him I have not met before. Nor do I much care to continue the acquaintance. He seems ineffective at his position as well. Perhaps I shall have him removed." He considered it briefly, then flicked an eyebrow. "Yes, I see I must arrange it. His behavior and attitude appear at odds with the importance of his position."

She glanced up at that, startled. Sarek looked thoughtful, he didn't seem to find his statement amiss as she did.

"The importance of his position?"

He looked down at her, and though his look was calm, even affectionate there was something in his gaze that chilled her. "Guarding you."

"I don't need to be guarded, Sarek."

"Apparently, there are violent factions on your world that make that necessary, my wife. I am sure every effort will be made to lessen the onerous nature of the requirement. But guarded you shall be."

She drew a breath at that. Her husband was so kind and gentle, in general, that she always found the casual authority he could and did summon to be something of a shock. She eyed him, newly reminded of it. And him. "I didn't mean to leave you out of the decision in there, to ignore you. Their attitude just," she swallowed the words she would have chosen, "upset me. But **I'm** not willing to be left out of this decision either."

"Giletti's arguments were poorly and insultingly put. However, the situation does seem to require an appropriate response."

She looked at him, her heart sinking. "I don't need this. I can be careful. I will be careful. I promise."

"Indeed you shall."

"That's not what I meant." Her brows knitted together. "Look, I thought you told me you weren't going to dictate how I behaved on Earth."

He raised an eyebrow, looking at her. "We were then discussing behavior. Not safety."

"I don't think it's fair you suddenly putting conditions on that statement after the fact."

He merely looked amused. "Do you consider that statement a treaty of sorts?"

"Well, who better to have one with?"

Sarek considered her a moment. "I will review the relevant reports, and let you know of my conclusions."

"What about my conclusions? Don't I have a say in this?"

"In this case, a limited one."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"As some of the information is classified, you will not have the relevant facts on which to base an appropriate conclusion."

"But that's not fair!"

"Perhaps not, but it seems unavoidable at the moment. Amanda, no one is saying that your freedom will be restricted. You will merely have attendant security."

"To me that is a restriction."

"You will have to get used to it."

She looked mulish. "I'm not sure I can."

"You will have practice, then, to learn such acceptance."

She stared at him, and he looked back, no compromise in his manner. It was her first experience on the receiving end of the indomitable will she knew her husband possessed. He might as well have given her an order. It certainly felt like one. Part of her told herself she should fight this battle now, or she'd set an uncomfortable precedent. She'd agreed to his right to make certain…inviolate…demands in their marriage, but this wasn't one of them. She shouldn't let him think he could order her about whenever he chose.

But part of her shied away from the thought of their first real argument. Fight. She was strong-willed, stubborn, perhaps, but she didn't think of herself as contentious. She hated the very idea of a big row, so soon into their marriage. And certainly none of this was Sarek's fault. It was her own people, humans, who were creating this problem for her, not Sarek. She pushed the thought of a fight away as too painful. If she was setting an uncomfortable precedent, so be it. "Maybe, when you review the reports, they won't be so bad."

He raised an eyebrow, then hesitated and said, "I doubt that irrelevant concerns will be brought to my attention, but I suppose there is some slight chance of that."

She sighed. At least nothing had been decided yet. "He was right about one thing. I wasn't really thinking any of this would apply to me. I mean, the press, yes, and the attendant crazies, but not," she looked puzzled. "Not the political ramifications. I mean," she looked at Sarek, for confirmation from him at least of this truth, "I'm not a diplomat. What can any of this have to do with me?"

"You are my wife."

"Mmm." She thought about that, unhappily. "I suppose I am tarred with the same vile brush. No don't ask, it's an old colloquialism. I have to stop using those around you. I confess it never occurred to me that marrying a diplomat would make me part of the club. That it would have political ramifications for me. I suppose that was," she shook her head, "singularly stupid of me. Particularly of me." She looked up at him. "They say doctors make the worst patients. And I am not thrilled at the notion that my personal life is going to start having political and …social…overtones."

Sarek frowned. "Amanda, this issue of security is a minor one. Provided the agents do their jobs, it should merely be an annoyance. Not a serious constraint."

"It doesn't seem minor to me. You're used to living with security. I'm not. Nor does the rest of it." She sighed. "I certainly wasn't expecting it."

He merely looked at her. "I share your belief in one respect, Amanda. It is, as you say, a little late to impose conditions."

Amanda colored. "I not saying I regret our marriage. I'm just frustrated with myself for not thinking of **all** the ramifications. When we married we concentrated so much on the personal issues, we, or maybe I, never considered there would be others. As I said, singularly stupid, particularly of me. I'm just not used to considering myself in the equation. Being so …close…to the situation requires a certain change in perspective."

Sarek studied her a moment, non-plussed. "I find myself somewhat…disquieted, Amanda, that you would have such a violent emotional reaction to such a minor consideration."

"You think this is a violent emotional reaction? Sarek, you've seen me in a temper."

"Indeed. I am not referring to external expressions of temper. I refer to your internal distress."

She colored again. Through the marriage bond, he was now more aware of her emotions, could sense at least something of what she was feeling. It was a violation of privacy that she also hadn't quite gotten used to. Was not sure she ever would. Frankly the healers who'd instructed her on Vulcan marriage had emphasized so much the physical requirements of marriage to a Vulcan, _Pon Far_ and everything that went with it, they'd overlooked what to a human was even more daunting, the telepathic and emotional bond. Perhaps they assumed being relatively psi-null compared to a Vulcan, it would not matter to her. Or perhaps they thought humans were so blatant in their emotions and expressions that they had no privacy to violate. She could have told them far otherwise.

Sarek had told her he wasn't a very strong telepath, by Vulcan standards, and the few mind touches they'd tried before their marriage hadn't seemed so daunting. It wasn't the aspect of telepathy that bothered her, the kind that was clear and definite, that started with his hands on her and ended with when he took them off her. It was that now, he **didn't** have to touch her. That after their bonding, there was no clear cut boundary between them anymore. Merely by concentrating he could get, not actual thoughts, per se, that seemed to require touch, but her emotions, and some gist of her thoughts.

Sarek spoke of it easily to her, after they were bonded, as if it were nothing special and she tried not to dwell on it. Losing even that privacy of mind, losing control over that aspect of herself was not something she was sanguine about. But Sarek didn't dwell on it either. It wasn't as if she heard his voice in her head all the time, felt possessed or anything of the sort. Sarek had long ago told her that Vulcans revered privacy, that even between bondmates, privacy was not to be violated. That had eased some of her fears about the bond. But that also meant she had to keep her own barriers up to ensure her privacy, and she wasn't facile at such shielding yet. Though she'd been assured it would soon be reflexive and she'd learn to lower her barriers only at will. Sarek's occasional …perceptions of her emotions and her thoughts were relatively rare occurrences, ones she chose not to call him on. If Sarek noted she had any unease at that, he gave no sign. They were still so tentative with each other in many areas. Both of them knew they had so much to learn in this marriage.

Proving he sensed something of what she was thinking, Sarek continued, "Amanda, there will be…many issues in our marriage that will require some compromise. Including unequal compromise. It is not something of which you were unaware and I am …disheartened that a point of contention has arisen so soon."

"It's the idea of guards that bothers me, not compromising."

"We are compromising about guards."

"I didn't think we were compromising at all."

A ghost of a smile touched Sarek's mouth. "Do you think me a tyrant, to impose my will arbitrarily?"

Her eyes narrowed, a little upset by his tacit betrayal. "I thought you and your Federation security pals were getting very chummy there."

"Chummy?"

"Giving each other the secret handshake. Ready to take a house by the sea together."

He fought harder to control that hint of a smile, and only partially succeeded. Shaking his head slightly in amusement. "I believe I am beginning to understand some of your colloquialisms. I am relieved you find some humor in the situation. Your conclusions, however, are inaccurate. As I think you do know. I am not in league with them against you. Further, this issue and the relevant security requirements should only be a temporary situation, while are on Terra. It should quickly pass." Then he flicked an eyebrow. "However, we will not always be on Terra. And elsewhere, there may be other issues you will have to deal with."

"I realize that." She was still coming to terms with it, with committing herself, not just to marriage, but to life on a world she had never seen, and within a society she did not know. A life of perhaps more unequal compromises, however couched they were for her own good. There were times she almost understood the incredulity with which people like Giletti regarded her. She looked up at Sarek, seeing him not as Sarek but as a Vulcan, an alien. It was harder and harder to cast aside the veil of her familiar husband to see that he was also that, too. And one who had no qualms about issuing orders, even politely couched. And all that could be …daunting. She drew an unhappy breath. "As long as I'm not the sole person making the compromises and dealing with the issues."

"Do you believe I am sanguine that my attentions to you have antagonized those on your world to the extent that they threaten your life?"

She lowered her eyes. "No." She admitted that probably frightened him more than it did her – being Vulcan he was less used to violent crazies.

"Apart from my regard for you, your life is as important to me as my own. You are my bondmate. Our lives are now …inextricably tied."

She looked up at him. "Sarek, if something …happened to me, you'd be all right. Wouldn't you?"

"It is possible to survive a bondmate's death. Not always. And sometimes hardly desirable."

She drew a breath at that. "I didn't know that. Sarek -"

He reached out and touched her face with his hand, tracing her cheekbone, palm warm against her cheek, before drawing it away. "There is much for you to learn."

"I'm beginning to fully appreciate that." She had yet to even begin to understand him, and she wondered at his choice, to caress her cheek now. He rarely touched her during the day, outside of the two fingered touch. Or holding her hand – unVulcan as it was, she'd found it hard not to take his hand or arm at times, and he allowed it. Though she felt his surprise when she did so, and she tried to curb that impulse. It wasn't so much that he resisted her touching him, as he seemed to hold himself in check against touching her, except in private. It wasn't that he didn't want to, it was that he didn't let himself. She was still trying to reconcile the two Sareks in her mind, the formal Sarek of the day who kept to Vulcan conventions, and the Sarek of their private quarters who couldn't keep his hands off her. Both were Sarek, and both seemed a contradiction in terms, if you didn't understand them. And she knew so little of him, or he of her. If she were Vulcan, and had just tied her life, as she understood Sarek had tied his, to a quixotically emotional human female, she'd be terrified. Knowing his biology, she was still amazed at the level of trust he had in her, to so willingly put his very life in her hands.

He dropped his hand. "Now however, is not the time. I still have meetings. Amanda…you will heed the directives of Federation security detail? I do not say you cannot leave the compound. But you will take the protection they offer." It was and was not a question. It was and was not a demand. He looked at her expectantly.

Trust was the coin they had to pay in, both of them, for this marriage to succeed. For a last moment she resisted the tacit demand in his voice, his tone, his manner, his eyes that expected her acquiescence. And then she lowered her gaze, uncomfortable still, but slowly nodded.

For a moment he regarded her, non-plussed. Then he reached out, and briefly caressed her cheek. "Yes means _yes_, Amanda."

She looked up, astonished. He slid fingers under her chin, raising her face a little more, his eyes meeting hers. Not expectation in his eyes, but a demand. "Yes …means **yes**."

There was nothing tacit about **that **demand.

"I agreed, didn't I?"

Sarek frowned, not at her, but in frustration. "You have not said so." He shook his head a little, "English is a most imprecise language. It has no emphatic mode. Amanda. This is important to me. I would think to you as well. Therefore, I would hear you say it."

"All right then. Yes. I agree." She eyed him, a trifle resentfully. "Happy now?"

"I am pleased." He seemed completely sanguine, not at all put out by her resentment.

Alarmed that he might take this as an unconditional surrender, she shook her head, sliding free of his possessive hand. "I agreed, for **today** only. Then I want to discuss it further. After you've reviewed the reports. And…" she sighed and relented, "After I meet the agents."

He seemed merely amused at her conditions. "Logical, my wife. But given that this may not happen entirely in a day, you will agree to protection until such a discussion and decision has been reached to our mutual agreement."

She looked at him. He waited for her reply, confident that she'd accept these new conditions, as if he'd never had any doubts she would acquiesce.

It struck her anew, standing across from her very Vulcan husband, that now she was a Vulcan citizen herself. On an Earth which even her unwanted Federation security guards no longer considered her home planet.

Only a few weeks ago, she'd been single, had never met a Vulcan, never known one. And now she was one half of an unlikely alliance that had infuriated enough humans that they were willing to kill her for her daring to marry outside of her species. She not only had the Vulcan husband, she had the Federation security guards to prove it.

And a virtual command from her husband that she agree to that protection, until he agreed otherwise. "You're saying I have to do this until you agree that I don't."

"Do you think I would continue this, past need?"

"You tell me. I'm not sure my definition and your definition are going to be entirely in synch here. And I have a feeling I'm not going to come out ahead."

He merely looked at her, brows raised in innocent astonishment. "A feeling, my wife?"

"Oh," She debated whether to argue with him about this, and then suddenly tired of a disagreement she hadn't even started. That was making her feel shrewish and unreasonable, in the face of his apparent innocent concern. Not that she didn't have her suspicions about that. She wasn't entirely psi-null. Most humans weren't. And a bond worked two ways. He certainly didn't like the idea of her being the focus of animosity, and he didn't much care for Federation Security, but there was something about this whole issue of her being guarded she felt he was relieved about. And in no hurry to see end. But looking at his innocent countenance, she felt suddenly unsure again. Who was she kidding, trying to pierce through her husband's shields. She didn't know anything, for sure, she was totally out of her depth in all of this. And as much as she resisted the necessity, she acceded to that fact, however unpleasant. "All right. I'll do it. **Yes**." She emphasized the word he'd previously demanded. "I give in. Capitulate. Throw in the towel. You win this one. Unconditionally. Whatever you and they want. I'll do it."

"This is hardly something I **want**, my wife."

"Oh, don't tell me you don't approve. You know you do. **I **know you do. If you hadn't, you would have chucked that pair right out of here before even calling me."

Sarek just looked at her, neither confirming nor denying it. She wondered at his ability to help her make his choices – the decisions he wanted her to make, the choices for her that favored his own views - seemingly without saying a word to her. He was getting frighteningly good at that. And she found it a little daunting that he never argued with her, that as a diplomat, whose sole tool was words, he never wore her down with them. He could just look at her and somehow, uncannily, his unspoken arguments overcame hers, and she'd fold. And he was right about one thing. It was hard to argue with someone who didn't argue back.

"Some day you'll have to tell me how you manage that."

"My wife?"

"Get me to agree with you without saying a word."

Sarek half smiled as if she amused him. "I am doing nothing my wife, but giving you time to reach your own logical conclusions."

"Uh-huh," she said, unconvinced. "Just one thing."

"Yes?" Teasing her in turn with the very word he'd demanded from her. She could tell it from his arch tone, from the expression, however faint on his face. She would have smiled, but she was in no mood, no temper, for humor

"Please tell me that at least there are no guards on Vulcan."

Sarek drew a breath at that, hesitated. Then, unknown to her at the time, he settled for the emphatic rather than the literal truth. "My wife, such hostilities as you are experiencing here are entirely unknown on my world. Vulcan has been at peace for 5000 years."

She sighed in relief. "I guess that's something."

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 5**

But after Sarek left, Amanda felt uneasy. She went to the windows, looking out behind the curtains at the press ranged outside, and behind them, a host of what she'd come to call crazies, those opposed to non-human membership in the Federation, and the worst of those, the ones outraged at the idea of a interspecies marriage.

"Look at what the neighbors think," she muttered.

She did think them crazy. But in truth, what they were was frightened. Fearful of the unknown. And however little she thought of them, lately she'd come to some understanding of that attitude.

She'd been faced with the prospect of a similar, if far more personal, alliance. And she had a few fears of the unknown herself. In fact, she sometimes felt a striking sympathy with them on that chord, much as she loathed the violence and hatred that accompanied their fear.

She'd wrestled, debated, **fought **with her own fears and doubts on that issue of trust.

Sarek had made up his mind long before she had made up hers. She had felt some pressure on that regard, though he had not actually pressed her, at least, not until the end. She had just felt it, knowing he was waiting for her to make her decision. Every day she delayed felt obscurely like a day she had committed, at least in Sarek's eyes. She had, after all, not yet said no.

And every day she had understood a little more what living with him would be like, so calm, so in control, and even worse, so devastatingly able to get exactly what he wanted. As if he had only to wait, and she would come to him. Rather amused that it was taking her so long, that she was so…slow, so obtuse, but willing to be patient. She knew he had never been that sanguine about it, but he could certainly give that impression. That supercilious patience had tested her temper more than once.

And she had just experienced it once again. She had to admit, sometimes her husband's calm sense of entitlement set her teeth on edge.

While she was still deciding on marriage, she'd had a few rebellious rows with him, frustrated at her own indecision and tension, just to test **his **ability to deal with **her** temper. She'd stormed out of the embassy more than once, taken off in her aircar with a burst of fuel and a breaking of all the traffic laws. But she felt, knew if she cared to think about it, that Sarek had seen through her behavior for what it really was. As fear, a need to put distance, a final futile resistance to the acquiescence he knew was coming. And if not condoning her behavior, had at least understood it. Was willing to overlook it. Sure in the knowledge that eventually she'd come to the conclusion he'd already reached. That he'd get what he wanted. Her.

And he'd been right. He had.

She had the feeling he expected that he always would. In everything. It was an odd thing to think, but she suspected, knew if she cared to really think about it, that he must have lived a very sheltered life, at least in some respects. She didn't know much of Vulcan society, but she knew it had various castes and he was highly placed in the highest caste. Among his aides, associates, the rest of the embassy staff, his voice, his manner was understated, but his requests were invariably taken as orders and always obeyed. And if he was even slightly displeased, his voice got an edge to it, barely there, but discernable to her. And then his associates rushed even more so to correct whatever the flaw.

He'd had the same expectations with her. Perhaps he had a little concern, in that she was human, and not fully predictable, and he certainly was more than patient with her inevitable …resistance. But she felt he still expected she'd acquiesce. Knowing he had that calm expectation, that sense that her agreement was inevitable had both frustrated and frightened her. The more she had come to know him, to feel attraction for him , finally to come to love him, the more she'd been well aware that it wasn't even so much that he was Vulcan that intimidated her – but the Vulcan that he was. He'd been born to an expectation of entitlement. She suspected that included entitlement to any Vulcan woman he would have wanted. And though he'd rejected that option and chosen her, though at first he'd seemed alternately alarmed and amused at the notion of giving her a choice in the matter, deep down she suspected he'd felt entitled to **her**.

She wondered a little, but tried firmly not to think about, how she had ended up at the Vulcan embassy. For as much as Sarek had asked for – ordered – a comparative ethology study extrapolating Vulcan's effect on baseline Federation politics, and though he'd apparently read the report and listened to her extrapolate on it, from the beginning she'd half suspected he didn't care about it much at all. She had to keep suggesting ways he should be using the information, and he seemed …surprised…that it had so much relevance to his work, his negotiations. Even looking back now to the first days of their association, he had seemed much more interested in her. At the time, she had some inklings of that, but had put it down to her own cultural misinterpretations. And his.

Part of her wondered if she had never misinterpreted him at all. If his request and her coming to his embassy, had from the start had always been planned by him, for this.

But she told herself that was ridiculous.

Whenever the idea had come into his head, once he had it, he seemed to think it inevitable that he would also …have her. His expectations wavering only slightly depending on how recalcitrant she'd been to his determined suit. And he'd become less alarmed than amused as she slowly and inevitably started falling for him. She had come to wonder if she would have been allowed any choice if she was Vulcan. And how much of a choice she'd really had even as a human.

But while she had been wrestling with that choice, Sarek had been waiting, somewhat less than patiently, for all his calm manner, for her answer. Eventually she had felt she had put him off long enough. She had to make a decision. True she had known so little of Vulcan, or his culture, and the thought of spending the rest of her life within it was …well, daunting would be an understatement. But somewhere between her fear and her wonder, the Federation politics and the incomprehensible Vulcan customs, the cold logic of his Vulcan associates and his very warm pursuit of her, was the stark realization that not only had she fallen, but she'd fallen hard.

It would have been difficult not to fall for him, once she realized his intents. He was handsome, he could be charming when he chose, he was absolutely determined to please her, highly placed in his society and hers. They seemed to share a lot of views, on everything from sociology to poetry, surprising as all that was to her. She enjoyed his company. He had a sense of humor. And god did they need one, in this situation. He made her laugh. He even had a mischievous sense of play. And over all that, he had that absolute sense of entitlement, of being born to have whatever he wanted. Including her. Especially her.

Yet… when she wasn't with him, she missed him. And she left him enough to feel the ache of that, left him deliberately, stormed away, determined to stay away. And …couldn't. For she discovered that not only did he want her/love her, whatever you wanted to call it, but she had come to love him. He might be alien to her, his culture, his world all but unknown to her, but when she was with him, impossible as it seemed, that rarely seemed to matter all that much. They struggled over words, sometimes. But she'd been right from the first. They had more shared similarities than differences.

And in spite of his being Vulcan, and that sense of entitlement, even that chilling sense of command she'd seen him assume occasionally with his subordinates, she had invariably felt safe with him. His interest, his all encompassing concern for her made her feel like he would do anything he could for her. Made her feel not just wanted, but cherished. Safe. In fact, when she was with him the idea that there was anything to be concerned about in marrying him seemed ridiculous. And as for the wanting part, logical Vulcans aside, he'd left her in no doubt of his desire. And she had come to return those…feelings… with a strength of desire that startled her.

It was only when she **wasn't** with him, trying to explain herself to friends, to colleagues, or like now, totally alone and trying to explain yet to herself how once again she had gotten herself in a situation that she hadn't anticipated, or felt entirely comfortable with, that the absurdity, the danger of her intended course came back to her. She barely knew him, didn't know his culture much at all. No one did. No human had lived intimately with Vulcans. She'd be the first.

They had no shared history. Not personally, having known each other only for a couple of months. And not species-wise either.

Vulcans had been tacitly in the Federation for years, they had long been known to be a deterrent to Romulan aggression, controlling a significant quadrant of space for millennia before Terran exploration brought the two powers into contact. In fact, they had warned Terrans off from the Romulan Neutral Zone, which Vulcan still patrolled.

But Vulcan had been unhurried in embracing Federation membership. For most of that association the contact had been at a distance, via subspace communications. Now they were gradually being assimilated into mainstream Federation politics, the largely Terran dominated Federation. Or perhaps it could better be said the Federation was coming to encompass the mix of worlds and civilizations the Vulcans were bringing to the table. With the Federation previously being largely composed of Terra and Terran founded colonies, the mix was eclectic. The Federation was experiencing significant culture shock, finding it hard to accept that humanity might actually become if not yet a minority in Federation politics, then no longer an overwhelming majority. And Vulcan was the major threat to that dominance. Technologically rich, they also brought with them not just Vulcan and Vulcan's sector of space and all their colonies, but a huge block of worlds and civilizations that had been under Vulcan's protection from Romulan aggression. What was disconcerting to Terrans was that Vulcan seemed to regard the Federation, of which Terra took so much pride, with the indulgence a parent has towards a posturing child. They seemed to regard participation in Federation politics as a duty, rather than a benefit. It has been quite a blow to the Federation's ego that the casual alliance of worlds that Vulcan represented was far more diverse and almost as numerous, as the Terran colonies that largely comprised the Federation of that time. And that they were as a rule, singularly unimpressed with the Federation. It could have been a question of who would join whom.

The difference being that Vulcans and the worlds they were allied with, were far less interested in the Federation than the Federation was in them. Asking the Federation to join the ancient alliance was far removed from Vulcan's thoughts. Asking Vulcan and its sister worlds to join the Federation was very much on the Federation's mind, particularly a technologically advanced ally who already had forces conjoined against a threat to the Federation.

Hence the reason Sarek was here, and the almost anxious deference he was given by the Federation leadership. He was here to hammer out an alliance of sorts, a formal conjoining of their mutual powers. And with some ominous signs that the Romulans were stirring beyond their borders, the Federation was anxious for that alliance, and for the wealth of technology Vulcan and its sister worlds would bring to the Federation. Sarek was encountering very little resistance to his terms, but he still wasn't rushing to any quick settlement. And while a significant faction of the Federation membership saw the benefit of Vulcan's membership, another faction were in threatened opposition, and far more rowdy and less restrained about showing it. There was some concern in certain factions to get the treaty signed before those forces became more mobilized, and threatening.

She suspected the Federation would be quick to throw him any bone to get that treaty signed. And if that tossed bone included an obscure if rising Terran theorist, it wouldn't hesitate a moment.

And even knowing that, still she told herself it had never happened that way. And it didn't even matter, really, how she had come to meet him, to know him. What mattered had been what she was going to do about it. Marry him, or say goodbye forever. Never see him again. Because she'd come to realize if she rejected his suit, he could not keep the acquaintance with her. By then she'd had enough sessions with his healers, had been told enough of Vulcan biology to understand the longer she delayed, the more she was reinforcing an attraction that for Sarek was even less easily put aside than hers. If she said no, she could never see him again, or he her. At least until he was safely bonded to another.

She'd cried a few nights over that. All or nothing. A daunting choice and one that was fading every day she delayed. She had to make a decision soon. Sarek hadn't been rushing her. But then the healers had played their hand, had made it clear that they felt he was already too fixed on her, and they had concerns that if it continued much longer he'd be unable to take another. That if she didn't choose soon to marry him, then for both their sakes, they must irrevocably part. Forever. That to keep him from pursuing her even against her will, he must immediately be bonded with another. They'd bundled some Vulcan girl aboard a fast starship heading for Earth, a suitable bride, borne of his caste, for that very possibility. And though Sarek had no interest in this woman, she'd been given to understand that rather than risk forcing her, or dying himself in the fever, he would bond to her.

As if he couldn't have the woman of his choice, it mattered not whether he cared for her surrogate.

And that made her cry anew. That she would do that to him.

She could choose what they both wanted, or choose to deny them both. Part of her sheer resistance was the outrage, the fury, that this choice was being forced on her. That she had this power, unwanted, over both their lives. She hadn't asked to take responsibility for his happiness. She barely knew him. And yet she could not escape it. Or him. Or at least, if she did, it would be the last time she would ever see him. Because if she refused him, she could never face him afterwards, knowing what she'd done to him. She'd even been told it would be unwise to see him, even socially, ever again.

All or nothing.

What she had finally come down to, was the certain knowledge that she had come to love him. That she would rather be with him, even if she were miserable, scared, homesick, frustrated, frightened – and some of those emotions she certainly already felt - than placidly safe on Terra without him. Not that she expected the worst of the horrors she'd forced herself to imagine. He was, above all, logical, kind, considerate. And even though he never said the words to her, in fact denied that loved her or that he ever could love her, telling her love was a human emotion he could never feel, she knew he felt a caring that was as strong or stronger. It was the **word **that he rejected, not her. Something in the notion of human love he had looked at and rejected. She couldn't quite fathom what that was, but she wasn't interested in debating semantics. She knew that when she'd told him love was a requirement for her, that she had to feel love, both for and from him, that he'd done some research, some reading on it, and who knew what he'd found. Human love could be very diverse in its expressions, everything from Harlequin romances to Gothic novels. She'd have gagged at and rejected much of that herself. She could hardly blame Sarek for refusing to say the word if he found himself unequal to one or many of its myriad facets. He was always precise with words. That he offered her the Vulcan equivalent, she had, at least at times, considered enough. She'd had ample evidence he was prepared to be as fully devoted to her, more so in fact, than even she might wish.

She felt he did love her, whatever he might say otherwise.

Though at times she did realize she was going to miss hearing those words. It was, after all, practically her human birthright. Before she chided herself for being silly and provincial.

Still, before making what she had come to understand was an irrevocable decision, she forced herself to consider not just him, or the love she had come to feel for him, the physical attraction, the enjoyment they had in each other's company, the thought of having that forever but to consider worst cases. She steeled herself down, from the fantasy of romance, to sheer stark practicality.

She didn't have any misconception that living on Vulcan with him was going to be a lifelong picnic. Or that, merely from knowing him on Terra in very controlled conditions, she could even imagine what it would be like for her living in a logical society. His logical society. She imagined herself immersed in his culture, far from Terra, from friends, family, such support systems as she might have,. And with a husband who might be devoted to her, but for all that was still raised to a sense of utter entitlement, even as it came to entitlement to her. Once she married him, there would be no going back. She would be awfully isolated, undeniably dependent, and essentially trapped. She'd been told enough of Vulcan biology to know she'd be his, unconditionally and forever. She'd been told about divorce on Vulcan. Just enough to know it wasn't anything she'd ever want to experience. That it entailed a fight to the death. To the death.

How odd her husband's culture was. A mixture of logic, and passion, non-emotion and violence.

What sane being wouldn't be scared at that. She'd confessed some of this to Sarek, and again, he'd seemed almost amused at her concern. Assuring her that he had a vested interest in making her very happy indeed.

She'd stared at him, realizing he still didn't understand human emotion. "You can't make me happy, Sarek. Only I can make me happy."

He'd just flicked an eyebrow, unimpressed by that. That sense of entitlement again. He balked at love, but if happiness was what she required next, he had no concerns on that score. As if it could be something indented for. He knew she was happy when they were together. From what he could see, it was only the choice that was tearing her in two. To Sarek's mind, the sooner she got the choice behind her, the sooner she would be free to be happy.

He was right about that. The choice was tearing her in two. She imagined herself saying no. Saying no forever. Seeing herself on Terra, living her life without him. Marrying some safe human substitute. It would be the sensible, easy, prudent **sane **thing to do. And emptier, full only of more regrets than she could possibly imagine living with. She cried a few nights over that too. To make such a choice, not because she didn't love him, didn't want him, but because …let's face it…she would have been too cowardly to risk the unknown. It wasn't how she thought of herself.

Yes it was a daunting decision. Marrying him was a great risk. But she knew whatever potential risks she might take in marrying him she was **guaranteed** a life of regret if she didn't. That he was right. Even with the unknown worst of times added in, being with him would on balance be better than living without him.

And this was Sarek, after all. He was sensible, gentle, kind, seemed more than willing to accommodate her human foibles at the same time not expecting her to be anything but human. She'd admired that in him before she even knew he was interested in her as anything other than a business associate. She'd come to enjoy his company, to even at the back of her mind, consider him as a man, though her reason had told her she was mistaking the signs he had seem to be giving her as to his intentions. And once she understood those, it was hard to resist someone who desired her so much he was willing to put aside all the conventions of both their species to marry her. She still could hardly credit that he really wanted to marry her.

She found it even less credible that more and more, she'd come to realize she wanted to marry him.

That he was Vulcan was certainly a deterrent, in that so much of his culture – and him—was an unknown. They had no shared history. No shared culture, and when – if – she married him and left Terra, she'd be leaving her culture behind. And she happened to like her culture. Flawed as it was.

But his being Vulcan also backed up many of those traits that she admired in him.

Whatever their problems, their differences – and what marriage didn't have problems – they were two intelligent people. She told herself surely they could work them out reasonably. As long as she wasn't doing all the compromising.

The plain fact was, she had come to love him, and not just as a friend. She'd come to desire him. And while Vulcans did not engage in premarital sexual relations, and Sarek was …careful…not to go too far lest he reinforce his own desire so much that he couldn't allow her a choice, they did …touch. His touch left her breathless.

He even kissed her. It was a good thing he had some control because after one kiss **she** would have willingly gone much further, Vulcan customs be damned. Lord , was he a quick learner. She'd …almost…begged him for more. And he'd known exactly how she'd felt. He was, after all a touch telepath. She'd barely been able to look at him the next day. Been miserable enough to want to run away, for that alone.

And yet, when they were alone for a moment, he'd taken her hand, very briefly, her fingers in his, thumb caressing the inside of her palm and when she'd raised her flaming face to his had said, "Amanda. Do you think I desire you any less for my control? I remind you, I **have **asked you to marry me. And am still waiting, what seems like an inordinate amount of time, " he flicked an ironic brow, " and with somewhat less than full patience, for your decision. I am …relieved…that you share my desire. I would be far more concerned if you …felt nothing. Control," his mouth curved infinitesimally, "is never an entirely pleasant requirement, and I do not wonder that you find it so. **I** tire at the necessity of continually practicing it. And look forward to a decision on your part which will negate the necessity of it becoming a continual practice."

"Oh, you," she said, but she had smiled back, and somehow, his words, his touch had made everything all right again. That he loved her as much, as well.

But bed and marriage were two very different things.

She was quite a bit slower – it took her weeks, months to reach his conclusions. Almost two, anyway. Once she reached them, and knew what she wanted, it all boiled down to two things. Trust and courage. Either she trusted him and had the convictions to follow her heart, or she didn't.

Once she'd decided that, the rest was …not easy. But inevitable.

She was not so much a fool that she thought she would never have regrets. Not even a human marriage was without its rocky shoals. And hers would be no fairy tale. She had a temper, and she'd come to realize Sarek had one too, though he kept it, as a rule, firmly in control. Some of her bad behavior before they were married was an attempt to see that temper, to test him. No one was always in control, least of all her and probably not him, either. They'd probably would have many issues, most unimaginable to her now, with her current ignorance of her husband's culture. And his of hers. She could only trust, in both herself and him, that they'd love each other enough to get through them, and that the good would outweigh the inevitable bad.

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 6**

**Stardate 2250.4 Vulcan**

Amanda was trying not to be nervous, and failing miserably. Ostensibly pretending to eat breakfast, she kept looking at her watch, which was behaving oddly. The time would variously crawl and then speed by. She told herself it was only the first day of classes, something that with twenty years of teaching should be nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn't even the first time she'd gone back to teaching after a long hiatus – with Sarek's schedule, she was always being pulled halfway across the Federation at a moment's notice. And then rushing to catch up with the latest publications and research, only to have the same thing happen again. But it was the first time she'd gone back to teaching after being locked up for six months. Though she told herself ruefully some of those long tedious diplomatic missions were really not all that different.

Who was she kidding?

"Amanda?"

She looked up into Sarek's concerned eyes. "I'll be fine."

"You will be more than fine," Sarek said. "You are an excellent teacher."

She gave him a scapegrace look. "You know what I mean."

Sarek regarded her doubtfully. "If you do not wish to go, Amanda, I could-"

"No, I'm being foolishly nervous. Just wish me luck."

"I will wish you logic, my wife." He looked down at her, and she smiled, shaking her head. At times, Sarek could be totally dense about her emotions. And then, at times like this, he could bring up a teasing moment from the earliest days of their marriage, their shared history, that made her love him so much it was all she could do to keep her hands off him. "Why **do** you say such things to me when I have to run right out the door?"

"To bring you back home again." He bent his head down and kissed her thoroughly.

"Oh, yes," Amanda said, thoroughly bemused. "Count on that."

And it must have been the right thing to say, because as daunting as going back to teaching was for her, she hardly thought twice about walking through the gate that day.

Her office at the Academy had been unchanged. As if she had never left it, not been gone for months and months, perhaps never to return. She told herself not to think of that. Someone had even watered her plants. She'd been into the Academy after her release, for a few meetings and some necessary pre-semester work. But she'd felt rather like a visitor. And truth to be told, she'd avoided people as much as possible, virtually sneaking in and out, and burying her head in work when she did, trusting in the Vulcan conventions that would prevent people from casually interrupting her. None of it had felt really…real.

She felt real when Sarek had his arms around her. When she was holding him. The rest seemed …strange.

But this was for real. She kept telling herself that, even though at times it seemed like an elaborate play. When she walked in, as always the lights automatically waved up, the air conditioning kicked in, the windows repolarized to the setting of light and shade she preferred and the computer greeted her solemnly and informed her of her daily schedule.

"Welcome back," she muttered to all this. "Curtains up, light the lights." She took a look at her class schedule, three undergraduate, three graduate and two research seminars and shut her eyes. "I could just kill him." She picked up her lecture notes and drew a deep breath. "Face it, Amanda, you had that chance. And you blew it." She sighed and set her shoulders and went to her first class.

A sea of faces faced her. Vulcan, Human and a sprinkling of other Federation races. For a moment, seeing all those strangers made her want to turn tail and run, but she took a deep breath, gave the half smile that was acceptable even among Vulcans and greeted her class.

At least the first one at least was an introductory seminar. Something she could have taught in her sleep. Something she could have taught having woken up from a six month sleep. Which is essentially what she'd just done. She liked to teach the undergrads though, their enthusiasm kept her young. And after the first few minutes, something kicked in place and she felt as if she'd never been away.

Normal.

Blessedly, relievedly normal.

She even began to enjoy herself.

_To be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7

**Holography 3**

**As A Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 7**

In his office at Council Keep, Sarek was striving –and failing – to concentrate on a priority report that required his attention. He kept thinking of Amanda – and how anxious she had looked that morning. He went to the window instead and looked out. From this vantage, he could see the towers of the Academy. Where his wife was teaching.

Part of him felt unutterable relief at that. And part of him was torn. There had been a certain comfort for him in her chattel status. He reminded himself of the drawbacks of that status. He was musing so, he didn't hear the attendant enter.

"Leader?"

Sarek stirred. "Yes?"

"This is the standard time for our conference."

Sarek blinked. "Not today. Have my aircar brought round."

"Yes, Leader."

Sarek flew to the academy, not even sure yet why he was going there. He just knew he had to.

He did not have to look up her schedule. He always did so, at the start of a new term. Checked it once, and then it was consigned to his eidetic memory. He had little need to do so, but he always checked. He liked to know, where she was, when she was.

So his steps went unerringly from his aircar to the location of her class for this time period. The class was just ending, students beginning to rise, some to cluster around her. Part of him was relieved to see her, and looking so well, unflustered.

And part of him was relieved that it apparently did not stir the slightest twinge of possessiveness for him to see her in this, her natural milieu. It had been the worry that had been plaguing him all morning. Could he really let her go back to teaching? Would the _vrie_ rise up at this new stimulus and claim him again? He had taken some risk in releasing her. He hadn't been free of the chronic fever that long, and for weeks the healers had urged caution, fearing relapse.

He watched her, and felt unutterable relief that he did not feel the slightest twinge of that rush of possessive anger. The ghosts of _vrie _which had haunted him for months had apparently been banished. He could see her, back teaching, surrounded by others claiming her attention, and not feel the slightest distress. And no more concern than usual at the thought of her out and about on his world, a world which was, after all, alien to her. Nor did she look stressed or overwrought. She was, in fact, smiling, as she turned from one student to another. And then something, some tug from their bond, even as tightly as he was shielding made her look up and see him.

Their gazes locked. He had not meant to disturb her, had given some thought to leaving unnoticed, if he could. He did not want her to think he'd reconsidered, that he now regretted releasing her. For a moment, he worried that might be the case. But then she…smiled, in surprise, widening to welcome, exactly as she would have before, if he'd come to see her here. As if the months he'd held her confined, had made no difference to her, or to her feelings for him. He found that astonishing too, that she could have forgiven him so thoroughly, so completely.

The students clustered around her saw him too and took their leave. And she smiled again, arching, amused, a look that brought back the memories of twenty years flooding back to Sarek, the look that had made him want her as his own.

"Come to be educated, have you?" She inquired.

He approached her, amused in turn, and relieved. "I came to see how went my educator's first class."

"It went very well." She laughed lightly. "I **was** a little nervous at first. But I suppose in some respects it is like falling off a horse."

"That is one of your finer non-sequitors, my wife. I will, however, play the student and ask how."

"You just have to dust off your clothes, shrug off your bruises and get back on."

He looked down at her. She didn't seem aware of all that she was saying in her comparison, but if it was too apt in that regard, he would not call her on it, however that reflected on him. "And you feel ready for a race?"

"Well, a trot around the park, anyway." She smiled up at him.

They walked down the corridor to her office, the pair of them getting more than one surprised look, and those that would have waylaid Amanda with greetings or questions about her return letting her pass by when they saw whom she was with. She put down her teaching materials at her desk and looked up at him. "I've another class in fifteen minutes."

"Nor can I stay. I just came to…see how you were."

"That was sweet of you."

He half smiled. "An inaccurate characterization, but one I will gladly accept."

"You have your moments. And how are you?"

"I am quite well. Very well. The better now, for being assured that you are."

"The characterization stands, my husband." She smiled and reached out to run a finger down the front of his tunic. "I could wish, though, that I **didn't** have a class in fifteen minutes. There are certain disadvantages to this life."

"Twelve point two, to be exact, my wife. I would see your wish," he glanced around, "and raise it," and he kissed her, "but I can also take a hint, and the leave that it implies."

"Bye."

Sarek paused, half way out the door, considering, "Perhaps you might be free for lunch?"

Amanda was already glancing through her notes for the next class. "'No really provident woman lunches regularly with her husband if she wishes to burst upon him as a revelation at dinner,'" she said absently.

"I take it that means no," Sarek said, amused in spite of himself.

Amanda looked up from her notes. "Sarek, you **know **that I have back to back classes all day." She gave him a look. "You signed me up for them."

"Indeed. In truth, neither am I free. I was considering – what was your phrase – playing hooky?"

"On the first day? You know that's impossible."

"Undeniably true, and yet, as you, I might wish otherwise."

Amanda looked up. Eyed him and seemed reassured by what she saw. "I'll see you this evening. Where I will thank you, properly, for your visit." She blew him a kiss, "And your support."

"Indeed," Sarek promised. And found it more than possible to take his leave, with that in mind. But he did look back, once. And was reassured by a return of the smile that he had first known in her. He took that with him as well.

_To be continued..._


	8. Chapter 8

**Holography 3**

**As A Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 8**

Amanda let herself in the kitchen entrance and dropped her carrybag on the table. And drew a deep breath of relief. She had gotten through it. She felt like she'd just run a marathon – not of miles, but of milestones. So many things she'd been avoiding since she came back into the world, taking or making calls, using a computer, even speaking to people. It had been so easy to avoid much of that at home, easy to use Sarek as a shield. He still had such innocent faith in her, that she could do anything, that he was largely unaware of how she'd been hiding behind him.

But apart from him showing up at her first class – and how she had loved him for that – today she had been all on her own. And she'd gotten through it.

Amazing, how she felt like raising her hands in a victory cheer over something that six months ago would have been no more than business as usual.

"One step forward, two steps back," she said, and shook her head. The movement caused the heavy weight of her bound hair to shift, reminding her anew of her promise. She glanced at her watch. Sarek should be home soon.

She went upstairs to change. Took a quick shower, to erase the stresses of the day, and dressed in a house shift, brushing out her hair. She looked at her image in the mirror, this one more familiar, more recent to her, than the other, the teacher, the wife, the person the outside world knew, the person she'd just taken off. She shook her head. But she felt almost comfortable with her image in the mirror.

"Old home week," she told the other Amanda. She put the brush back down on her dressing table, and ran her finger down the ribbon, once again hanging from her mirror, where she'd clasped a succession of barrettes. Glanced to look at her bed table, where now two frames sat, with two documents, one in her handwriting, one in Sarek's. And shook her head at that.

"Stuff to you," she told the image of a chattel in the mirror, now consigned only to a mirror, and half smiled as she went to prepare dinner.

She held onto her sense of self walking down stairs. But it was funny how, gathering produce in her garden, and then going in to prepare dinner, that other Amanda, the chattel, seemed to …descend…from somewhere, and take possession of her. It was almost hard for her to believe she had been out today, that it wasn't all just a dream. She told herself firmly she was being silly, but actually stopped, in the middle of chopping some carrots – they grew well in the light sandy soil if they were well watered – to stare hard at the gate. Half thought of going out to try it, to test it. And shook herself back to reality again.

And yet, padding barefoot through the kitchen, setting the table, shaking her hair back when it hindered her movements, she felt that other Amanda stealing into her, a ghost taking possession. A surprisingly tenacious possession. Hard to shake off.

It was getting late. Outside the sun was setting, long shadows stealing across the gardens. Sarek should be home by now. Should have been home some time ago. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, suddenly unsure, arms wrapped around herself, hugging her elbows.

The chime of the comm sounded overly loud in the quiet room. She stared at it, as if it were something foreign. She had yet to answer the comm at home, since her confinement had ended. She just was ….conveniently busy, and let Sarek pick up any priority calls that came in. They were mostly for him anyway. Those that weren't, she'd felt more comfortable answering at her office. If he found her behavior wanting, he had not said anything about it.

The comm sounded again, the priority signal, coded for her, and demanding her attention, and she tensed, then forced herself to cross to the unit. There was no one else here, and there could be something wrong. And she had to learn to get used to such things again here. She accepted the call and then nearly jumped back, as if she'd been caught doing something wrong, as Sarek appeared on the screen.

"Amanda. He frowned at her, and she felt her heart leap into her throat. "Are you… quite all right?"

She told herself that of course he was expecting her to answer the comm; he'd called her for that purpose. "Yes." She shook herself into some semblance of calm and gave him a half smile. "I was just startled to see you. I thought you'd be on your way home by now."

"There is a …situation…that requires my attention here," Sarek said.

A situation. The word, the way he said it, was code for them, that meant something up on the Federation front, that was probably classified and that he could not speak of to her. Yet.

"I see."

"It has been developing for some time. But you need not be overly concerned. I do not think we will be getting…marching orders in the near future," he used her term for the assignments that sent him, and by default them, to one diplomatic function after another. "You will mostly likely be able to teach out the term, unless events deteriorate significantly. But it will delay me this evening. I …regret…that. I would have liked to hear of your day."

"It was fine. I'm fine," she assured him.

"Good. I will probably be late, Amanda. And I can not estimate how long I shall be. So do not try to wait up for me," he stressed the latter with the emphatic inflection. "You need your rest."

She realized then how much she'd been looking forward to having him home. To holding him, to being held, while she slept. Here was another difference from her life as chattel. Then he had come home, often early, **never **late, every evening. Compulsively checking on her. Keeping her close. Holding **her**, for his **own** reasons. No doubt he'd been sacrificing his work to some extent, though she'd never thought of that. She wondered now how he'd managed it. And now work was reaching out to reclaim him, even as hers had. But she realized that as chattel, she'd gotten a little spoiled having a husband who was always home at the end of the day. Even if then it had been partly to hold her uncompromisingly to her chattel status, she was still going to miss him holding her now. Another habit to break. She nodded unhappily, trying to keep her expression neutral.

"Amanda?"

She blinked at him, trying to force her mind back to more immediate concerns. "I'm sorry. What?"

"Yes means _yes_, my wife," Sarek said, looking at her with mild, almost amused exasperation, but raising a demanding brow.

She shook her head, not in refusal, but in rueful acknowledgement herself of her failure to respond to his tacit demand. That she'd forced him to respond in turn with this code phrase from the first days of their marriage when she missed or failed to note his use of the emphatic mode. Which signified an issue, an area where he expected her immediate acquiescence or her acknowledgment to do so, as in the case when it was a future act. She still didn't always recognize the emphatic mode. It required a subtle change in inflection her human ears had required practice to catch. And still sometimes failed to catch, if she was distracted. Though Sarek had once teased her that she had selective deafness in that regard. Perhaps at some subconscious level that was true for her. And when she failed to hear it, or failed to remember what it meant, he followed it up with the above reminder. Sometimes she needed the reminder simply because he rarely made such demands, and she just… forgot that he could, or would. But when he did, he was quite serious about whatever he was asking. Ordering, really. She'd never pushed the limits of that that emphatic inflection required of her, or rather, how much wiggle room she had to get around it. He used it rarely enough. And usually just in instances where she considered he was being _Vulcan_.

In a marriage like theirs, there were times when it was just easier to accept they had species behavior traits that weren't likely to change. Just as he acknowledged there were times when she was going to be overly emotional, and he just had to deal with it. That she'd pull her hair back from her round human ears and ask him "Just _who_ do you think you married here?" She had to also recognize that his culture and biology meant he was going to give orders at times, and expect to be obeyed. And she just treated it like the order he obviously meant it to be. Part of the compromise that was their marriage, it also meant that they tended to only…fight…about the big issues. She certainly wasn't going to fight about something as trivial as this, even if she could conceive of daring to joggle his control about it when he was barely out of _vrie_. "Yes. I won't wait up."

"Then you will see me in the morning, Amanda. Until then." He cut the connection.

_To be continued..._


	9. Chapter 9

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise **

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 9**

Working late as well, T'Pau came into Sarek's office, her brow furrowing with concern.

"This Federation session. Will you be required to attend?" She asked.

"Yes. But I expect many delays."

"Significant delays?"

"Months, at least. The Tellurites are arguing for it to take place on their home world. It will not, of course, but they will argue. And the delay will be considerable."

T'Pau nodded. "Good. I would prefer you here for the opening of the Council."

"That is not in question." Sarek tilted his head. "Why?"

T'Pau shifted her gaze to her son. "Because what you predicted long ago has come to pass."

For a moment, Sarek looked puzzled, then he gave her a sharp look. "Indeed."

"Surely you were expecting it?"

"I have had…other pressing considerations."

"You are…well, my son?"

"Quite."

"And Amanda?"

Sarek gave himself a moment to relish the sound of his mother, saying his wife's name. After watching Amanda be resolutely shunned for twenty years, he felt entitled to that much. "You have not seen her since her release?"

"I had no wish to be deemed…interfering. The child has had enough to do. And her next attendance is in two days. Soon enough. I trust, however, that she **is **well."

Sarek hesitated. "It will necessarily take her some time to adjust to her changed circumstances."

"Indeed. More changes than just returning from chattel status."

"Nothing that should not have occurred years ago," he said, not without some irony.

T'Pau eyed him, giving herself a moment to relish the sight of her son, calm, controlled, healed. "You **have** considered the need for proper dress?"

Sarek blinked at this unexpected question. "For dress?"

"For T'Amanda. For _Council_."

"Negative." Sarek allowed a slight exasperation to color his tone. "It is hardly the first thing that would occur to me, Mother."

"So I assumed. Yet Council reconvenes in three days. And it is a necessary detail – and one I have suspected **neither **of you would consider, given your wife's consistent disregard for proper formalities of dress relative to her position in the clan."

"Until recent events, given her lack of status, her disregard was proper," Sarek said, slightly nettled. "She had no position." Over the years, T'Pau had kept her uncompromising attitude toward Amanda, and had never granted her any other title than the lesser title of consort. Even years of seeing Amanda disprove all T'Pau's initial concerns and fulfill all the duties of wife that T'Pau had doubted she could or would, after serving him through myriad _Pon Far_s and bearing him a recognized and sealed clan heir, his mother had never relented or relaxed his wife's outcast status. There was thus a trace of indignation in his tone when he pointed out: "Given your refusal to accept her as daughter, it would have been improper for her to assume them."

"Yet this is no longer the case. Has not been the case for some time."

Sarek ignored the fact that most of that time, Amanda had been chattel and not entitled to wear any formal dress. "Perhaps you now regret your original position regarding outworlders."

T'Pau hesitated, eyeing her son. After these recent trials and troubles her thoughts were mixed on that. If Sarek had succumbed to _vrie_ with a Vulcan wife, logic would have dictated that she challenge, and his survival would have been exceedingly slim, for chances are he would have died from _vrie_ even if he'd survived the challenge. Yet Amanda had …loved her husband too much to leave him to near certain death and that had saved him. Nor was the passion with which her son regarded his human wife unVulcan, or without precedent in their line. But still he had not felt it for any of the eligible Vulcan women he might have married. Perhaps with one of those, he would never have succumbed. No one could say.

All that was known was that the direct line of Xtmprszqzntwlfb was known to be overly passionate in marriage, even for Vulcans, and the risk was there. And as much as she honored her daughter for accepting chattel status, she had been forced – had forced herself – to watch the human suffer through it. And suffer she had, and T'Pau had suffered with her. Visiting Amanda week after week, watching her spirit, which had been unbowed after twenty years of outcast status, falter and dim under the constraints of her chattel state. If such a state was something no Vulcan would accept in all logic, it followed that no human should have been required to endure the emotional distress of that particularly, painful, Vulcan reality. No. She **still** did not believe the ancient trials of Vulcan biology, and their consequences, should be visited on outworlders. But it would serve no purpose to tell her son this. "I acknowledge that Amanda has proved herself a worthy daughter." And she sought to distract him. "That being so, she must be provided with the outward accoutrements of such."

Sarek gave her an impatient glance. "Amanda, like myself, has had duties more immediately pressing than assembling a clan wardrobe."

"Indeed. Such disinterest can have its charms, but this is a time when formalities are necessary." Seeing Sarek appeared less than impressed by the necessity, she shook her head. "Thee have not even attendants to task to it. Very well. I will see to it." She had intended to all along, a gift she had meant to make for her daughter, and her son, to show her true approbation. But she had not been sure that her son might not have cared to do this himself, and she would not have denied him that, if it had been his wish. She had certainly long ago forfeited any outright claim to that privilege.

"That would be more appropriate," Sarek agreed, glad to be relieved of a tedious chore, one he was no more interested in than his wife. And it was traditional, in their clan, for the matriarch to so robe her daughter in marriage. Twenty years after the fact, and with T'Pau's history of disapprobation of his choice, he had not thought to consider she might do so.

She looked at him, exasperated in turn, though it was no more than she expected. But could not help feasting her eyes on him, her true son, back again in all his ways and manners, and in spite of his occasionally exasperating views, at his core, calm, controlled, and at peace. There was no gift she could give T'Amanda for the gift she had been given, but she would robe her outwardly in a way that signaled to all her true approbation. "I will look forward to seeing you both at the opening ceremonies."

He looked up at that, his eyes meeting hers, and she saw he was not unmoved by her declaration. "I am honored."

She could not kiss him in gratitude, as she had done for his wife. It was not their way. But she did reach out and take his hand in hers a moment, slightly improper, but not excessively so, given the circumstances. And let her touch say what could not be expressed in their language.

And then before she really disgraced herself, she took her leave.

_To be continued..._


	10. Chapter 10

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 10**

Back at her palace, T'Pau summoned her chief attendant. "T'Lean."

"Matriarch."

"There are some tasks I would have you do before the coming Council session. Tasks particularly fitting for you."

Hope surged within T'Lean. "Of course." She'd been excessively careful to redeem herself in T'Pau's eyes, to stay in her good graces. T'Pau had forgiven, nearly forgotten, her slip from months past. The matriarch had come to regard it as a true slip, an unfortunate occurrence during a time when everyone had been emotional and tempers had been flaring.

And T'Lean had been well aware that Sarek was recovering. And that he would need a wife. And as T'Pau forgot her minor slip in the face of such major issues, her hopes had not died either.

The Matriarch spoke often of Amanda. Her weekly visits to the chattel made that inevitable. Time and time again, she had ordered T'Lean to assemble the guard to take her to visit her honored daughter. Honored Daughter. In this, T'Lean felt the old woman was doddering. Not that she showed sign of it in any other aspect of her life, but T'Pau's relief that her son still lived had clearly turned her head.

For the human was chattel. No chattel could be an honored daughter. She understood Matriarch had a …fondness…for the human who had spared her son's life by not challenging. For Sarek was a proud man and a brave one, but he would have been no match for one of the hulking professional challengers, who trained daily in combat. Xtmprszqzntwlfb were great men and of an ancient warrior line, but their qualities were of leadership, intelligence and strength of will, not sheer animal hulk. T'Lean was even willing to acknowledge that though the human's decision not to challenge had been foolhardy, it did display a loyalty deserving of _some_ regard.

In her rival's walled away absence, she had come to believe that the human was rather like a sehlat in that respect. Lacking in intelligence and foresight, and over emotional. But such loyalty even in an animal could be touching. And Sarek had always had a fondness for …pets, particularly those with sehlat-like qualities. He had been young when he had first taken the human. Far from home. And no doubt the human had some …animal like charms. He could be forgiven for a lack of sophistication in his first choice. T'Lean was willing to grant herself that perhaps there was no real harm in his chattel. T'Lean would even consider being…kind…to the stupid little beast, provided she did not forget her station. Who could fail to be kind to a well trained pet? Provided she kept to her station, low as it was.

In the months that Amanda had been reduced to chattel status, T'Lean had come to some sort of peace in her own mind with her, had ceased to regard her as a rival. Could not regard her as such. For though the Matriarch touched much on honor in referring to her, honor was an abstract concept in her case. She was only chattel. Chattel had no inherent honor. Most – all - chattel became chattel by challenging, and either having their husbands win the challenge or in choosing a champion who did not free them after the combat – in either case making a foolish choice in regards to the selected challenger. While the law allowed for a wife to challenge as her only means of freeing herself from an undesired marriage, social customs did not approve of such. But such divorce challenges were sealed, attended only by the parties involved. If the husband lost, he was considered merely a casualty of _Pon Far_. Men did occasionally die in the _Time_, even as women sometimes did as a consequence of it. It was rare, but it happened. It even had a euphemism in the press, was reported as an "unspecified fever." So a female who challenged, and was released by her challenger, returned to society unmarked by her action – at least officially - she bore no shame, no scandal. But if her champion lost, or if her challenger refused to release her and she remained chattel, that was entirely different. Chattel were considered treacherous, murderous outcasts, fit only for the most demeaning of existences. Chattel were never seen, never heard from again. When they died, they went unnoticed, unmourned. Essentially they died on becoming chattel, which in itself was a death, a death of all past life, past status.

It was true, to choose chattel status to heal _vrie_ was supposedly an honor of legend, but that was all it was, an ancient legend. Who knew a legend? Or spoke to one, or spoke of them, or dealt with them? The reality of a chattel's truly humbled existence was far more factual than some archaic myth of sacrificial legend.

T'Lean had thought much herself on challenge. She had planned carefully for it, knowing she would be chattel, however briefly, afterward. She, who had considered it much, would not be so foolish as to think it had any real honor under **any** circumstance – or be so trusting as to risk even five minutes in that state, to one whom she might choose as champion, without sufficient leverage as to gain freedom. She had already put aside much wealth in trust for the challenger she would select – who would receive it only upon releasing her to freedom. And had hired the best legal councilors to carefully draft the trust document. She had no qualms about her anticipated future challenge. Her husband was old, his presumed death in _Pon Far_ would be regarded as quite natural. Her challenge and divorce would be sealed, unnoticed and unremarked. She had indeed chosen well, quite deliberately so, in that respect. Her status on divorce would be undiminished from what it was before.

For there was honor outside of the chattel state, but only shame and subservience within it. No matter what tales of history T'Pau dwelt on. And the human had been months in her chattel state. No modern Vulcan woman had ever been released from chattel state after more than a few minutes. One was either released immediately by a champion, or one stayed chattel, outcast, property, slave. Forever disappearing from honorable society. It was the gamble one took when one challenged. There had to be some risk, in fairness to the male's risk of his life. And if one lost, if the champion died or proved false and did not release as promised, then the challenging wife disappeared, too. As if dead, or at least, forever removed from society. As Amanda had disappeared.

She considered Amanda gone as if dead. No one came back from the dead. No one ever returned from chattel status. It simply never happened. At least, outside of legend. And no human was worthy of a Vulcan legend. She was gone.

T'Lean had come to realize and relish the truth. The human still lived. Sarek had not killed her. But she lived as chattel, and chattel she would forever remain.

And as Sarek survived and even thrived, coming back to his old manner, the light of sanity now present in him, she had come to hope again. She had been intended for Sarek, and his choice of the human had been disconcerting, but she had never expected it to last. T'Pau had not expected it to last. She had known that someday the human would leave, or die, or otherwise fail Sarek. And she would be there, as had been intended from the first. It was her place. When she herself had been required to marry, she'd married an older widower who could be easily defeated in challenge. She'd planned all her life for this. It was difficult not to return to those plans on seeing the human so removed from decent society, to watch Sarek and not think that her place might still be as his wife. He would need a wife. To her eyes, he had recovered. He kept the human as chattel still. But that was fitting.

T'Lean had stayed in her position, sought to redeem herself with T'Pau, only for this. To stay close inside clan circles, so that when Sarek recovered fully, and sought a true wife, he would know who had been loyal all this time. The true loyalty of a Vulcan woman. Animal-like devotion might be touching but she could not believe a Vulcan could wish it in a wife. Not a silly sehlat like human animal who ought to be kenneled in the garden with the other animals rather than sleeping in her master's bed.

So she hoped and her hope surged upward. Of course, with the upcoming Council opening, Sarek would think of a wife. Must think of a wife, for it was traditional that the clan leaders be present. For too long Sarek had stood alone with T'Pau at the yearly ceremony, no wife at his side. It was unsuitable, and with the return of his sanity, he must see that. But then that human had been wife, unrecognized as such in the clan, but wife. She knew T'Pau had hated that, hated the human for it. But the human was wife no longer. Perhaps Sarek had come to realize himself with the return of his sanity, perhaps the human's very act had made him realize that she could be no more than a chattel. Perhaps he had recovered all his sanity on that issue as well. It was long past time he had.

So T'Lean hoped. And T'Pau's next words seem to confirm it.

"I wish you to go to the Vaults, to select a suitable gown for the Council opening."

"Yes, Matriarch," she said, outwardly calm, inwardly exulting.

"We must see to ornaments as well." T'Pau said. "I think in this case T'Ianye's, both gown and jewels, would be most suitable."

"Yes, most suitable, for the wife of the clan leader," T'Lean agreed, feeling as if her heart would burst for joy. At last, at last. And to wear the gown she had long coveted, long planned for. Finally, her dreams, her ambitions, her plans, all fulfilled.

"I thought you would be a good choice for these duties." T'Pau grimaced slightly. "My son cares little for such formalities. He would never see to it properly."

"He has many other duties," T'Lean said. "Leave all the preparations to me, Matriarch." She savored the title, thinking only too soon how she would relinquish it, to Mother.

"Yes, and T'Amanda knows nothing of them, and is otherwise tasked. She is teaching overmuch, when it would be prudent to grant time to allow her to readjust to her release."

"Release." T'Lean repeated the word, as if saying it could bring meaning to it. "She has …she has been released?"

T'Pau gave her an impatient look. "You are inattentive, T'Lean. She could hardly be teaching, otherwise."

'I beg forgiveness, Matriarch," T'Lean whispered.

"I think T'Ianye's gown and jewels will do well. My Honored Daughter is small, but the dress should fit well enough, and they will give her stature. Not that she requires such; her honor gives her that alone."

T'Lean did not hear the old women almost prattle on, her own mind was numb. From exultation to ashes. T'Ianye's gown and jewels. The precious clan jewels of the wife of Surak. Taken out only for state occasions. The last had been for T'Pau's own wedding. And never worn since. The dress T'Lean had planned to wear at her own now never to be wedding, given to …to an animal! T'Lean bowed her head trying to force acceptance, but she could not stop herself from interrupting T'Pau, from saying the words. "Matriarch, would you trust such…precious clan artifacts…to a human?"

T'Pau gazed at her imperiously, in astonishment. "Thy concern for the clan artifacts is appropriate. It is why I have chosen you to handle this task. As for trusting T'Amanda also - I have trusted her with my son's life. There is no higher trust."

"Yes, Matriarch," she whispered. Seeing all her dreams in ashes.

"See to it at once." T'Pau ordered.

_To be continued..._


	11. Chapter 11

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 11**

After Sarek's call, Amanda worked in her office for a while, though the sense of unease lingered. She realized she missed him. She told herself it was only logical – she hadn't been apart from him so much in six months. She was used to having him around.

She went to bed alone, also for the first time in months. She would have read herself to sleep, but with her memories of chattel restrictions still plaguing her, she didn't feel comfortable doing it. She knew she could do it. She just didn't feel comfortable. It was another freedom she had to get used to, and she had too many other, more pressing ones that duty required her to master before she could worry about those of pleasure. She wasn't about to push herself. So she left her books on their shelves as she had since that last terrible night when she dared to read for pleasure and finally drifted off from weariness more than relaxation.

Something woke her, though she didn't know what it was. She was alone in her bed, and she wondered where Sarek was. She remembered, then, something about him working late. But he never worked late any more.

She started to sit up, then remembered the last time she'd gotten out of bed in the middle of the night. When she'd been reading. How angry he'd been. How frightened she had been. But that had been before. She was free now.

Was she? Free to do whatever she wanted? There was no book at her side now, even though her husband was gone.

She blinked in the warm darkness, trying to reconcile reality and dream, to remember **when** she was. She thought she was free. She thought…

But it was hard to tell. Hard to tell, when you woke in the dark, what was dream and what was reality, like sitting in a train, and watching another train opposite, and not knowing which was moving. She wasn't sure what the dream was now. As if she were sitting in a train, she searched for reference points.

She hadn't worn a gown to bed since the first days of her marriage. So she had no clothes to differentiate. Her hair, as always in her bedroom, was unbound. No difference there. For a moment she doubted. Was it possible…that her freedom had been a dream? A silly, wish fulfillment dream. Even the idea of her going back to teaching. To work. As if a chattel, as if **she** could ever teach before a class again, when she couldn't even push her hair back, much less read. She couldn't read.

Her breath came fast and she started to tremble. Part of her panicked, denied it. She hadn't dreamed her freedom. It was real. But her anxiety alone gave her pause. If she really were free, would she be so …frightened. Wouldn't she know, for sure? Her fear demanded some proof and she couldn't think of any substantive proof, at least not where she lay. And she couldn't get out of bed if she didn't know for sure that she was free. A quandary.

But then she remembered. The picture frame. Sarek had put his list, like hers into a frame. How wonderful of him, to think of such a thing. So if it hadn't been a dream, there would be two frames by her bed. And if not, only one.

She didn't dare sit up, but she shifted, slowly carefully to the edge of the bed, straining to see in the moonless night, in the utter dark of the room. It was all so black. She could only see the vague shape of one frame. One. Her breath caught in her throat. She was still a prisoner. She stifled a sob, rising unbidden.

No, it couldn't be. It was just that the frames were so close together, and at this angle superimposed in shadow, in profile, one upon the other. With a little more light, or if she could get closer, a slightly different angle, she could see, it would be true.

She edged closer to the nightstand, and straining to see. And couldn't see but one at that angle.

Oh, this is ridiculous, she thought. I am **not **dreaming. I am free. There must be two frames there. How else would I **know **there should be two?

So get up, you coward. Get up, and prove it.

And she couldn't.

Where is he? She wondered. And felt an unreasoning surge of anger. _Where the hell is he when he's supposed to be here, with me_?

He is working late. Don't you remember? He called.

But what she remembered was her answering the comm. That was forbidden. She'd catch it for that.

He called you. He _wanted_ you to answer it.

But her mind seemed to be trapped in furious circles. Torn between the chattel she'd only recently eschewed and the real Amanda, who'd been absent for months. She was having trouble reconciling the two. Both fighting for primacy in her mind.

Damn it! Where was that other frame? Or where was her husband? If he **was** going to keep her locked up, the least he could do was hang around as jailor. **That** was only fair trade.

She reached out, blindly in the dark, looking for the other frame. And knocked something over with a crash. She yelped in sheer startlement. The bed table was empty. Now nothing was on it. She had only seen one in the dark and there must have only been one and she'd been dreaming of freedom all along and -

The door opened and Sarek stood there, tall and dark and she shrank back against the headboard. Wondering if he thought she'd gotten out of bed. Even though he wasn't in bed. Surely the rule still applied. She'd get punished for this, and she wondered how long the restrictions would last.

_He was working, he was working, _she told herself. _You weren't dreaming. _But she was still inexplicably frightened.

"Amanda? Are you all right?"

He advanced a pace into the room, and she shrank back fractionally against the headboard, though she really had no place to go, no place she could go. She was trapped.

_I cannot get out_, the starling said.

Her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry. Only a whimper escaped. She couldn't help it; her heart was pounding so fast she felt her head swim.

"Amanda?" Sarek hesitated, then turned on a light.

And then she saw, even through the blurred vision of sheer panic, there on the floor beside the bed, the two frames, one on top of the other. Two. There were two.

She was free.

And she sobbed, once, before catching herself.

Seeing the direction of her gaze, Sarek bent down and picked up the frames, automatically, unthinkingly, the kind of reflexive picking up he often did because being Vulcan, he was neat, neat, neat. He put them on the table again, but his eyes were fixed on her, and he sat down beside her. "Amanda. Are you ill?"

She shook her head, once.

"Did you have…" he searched his memory for the word. She rarely had bad dreams and Vulcans apparently did not dream at all or if they did, did so rarely, "a nightmare?"

She found her voice. "No."

"What then? I heard you cry out."

"I was just…I couldn't see in the dark."

Sarek was puzzled. "You are not afraid of the dark."

She wasn't actually. Never had been. He understood that peculiarly human phenomenon only because Spock had gone through a brief stage when he had been convinced there was a monster under his bed. There was no monster under her bed. Not **under** it. But she couldn't tell him it wasn't that which had frightened her.

Sarek looked around the room, then rose and went checking through it, came to study the open windows, the far flung balcony doors, gaping into Vulcan's moonless night. Walked through onto the balcony, checking it before returning, shutting the balcony doors, and setting the window shields, which they seldom did, because Sarek complained he could hear an infinitesimal hum when the screens were activated. They usually only set them during sandstorms. "Perhaps it was a night bird," he suggested. "Or even a litka, though they seldom climb so high."

She looked at him.

"That wakened you. That frightened you." He crossed back and sat down beside her. "Did they knock over the items on your table too?"

"I did that."

He nodded his head as if that settled it. "No doubt that frightened it away."

She looked at him, so calm, so concerned, so …_normal_. "Oh Sarek," and she flung her arms around his neck.

He gathered her close, and drew a little back from her. "It is all right, Amanda. It could not have been anything dangerous." He was right about that. It would take some doing to get through the fortress' shields. They were designed with a respectable shock charge.

Lematya did prowl near the fortress, which, built for ancient war, backed up for defense against stark cliffs in the foothills of the mountains. The mountains were full of game, a great hunting preserve for Lematya, but they also liked to peer down over the hills and cliffs into the fortress grounds and gardens. And small game had over the centuries learned those gardens were a safe refuge. Lematya were cunning and fearless, and she'd been warned more than once never to tempt them by even the briefest walk outside the walled gardens at night. It wasn't uncommon for them to periodically test the force fields, and shatter the night with a frustrated scream of outrage when some animal they'd been hunting scurried through to a safety the lematya couldn't breach. When she'd first come to Vulcan, those hunting screams had often woken her, and were sometimes so close, or they sounded so close, they had frightened her.

Sarek had assured her nothing over a certain size could get through. She knew that, because when she'd only been on Vulcan a few days, she'd come across a pair of just weaned cubs gamboling in one of the gardens. They'd loped up to her playfully, and she'd played with them in turn. When she'd left the garden, they'd followed, and she'd unthinkingly brought them home. I-Chiya had come roaring out, every hackle and hair bristling, fangs barred, frightening her, and bringing Sarek on the run, quickly followed by some of the guard. Who'd all been nearly as horrified and violent in their reaction as the sehlat. The guard had shot the cubs - with a tranquilizer dart - though at that moment, she'd only known they'd shot her new friends on sight. While Sarek had snapped at his bellowing pet, and pulled her away from the cubs so violently she'd had bruises.

The scene she'd caused, I-Chiya in battle mode, the guard with weapons drawn, the shooting of her playful acquaintances had been shocking and terrifying to her. The cubs had been not much bigger than a mid-size dog, fifty or sixty Terran pounds, and had not yet developed their poison, but Sarek said they would have in a few days more, perhaps only a few hours more. She had never seen him so terrified, neither before nor since.

And had earned herself a long, long tedious lecture on the dangerous flora and fauna of Vulcan. She hadn't been the only one to suffer either. Sarek had taken the fortress guard, who were responsible for maintaining perimeter security, severely to task. A few heads had rolled over that one. Though all the Vulcans had been shocked that she didn't realize these were lematya, which all Vulcans instinctively realized were lethal.

But she was human. It had been hard for her to realize that the cute cubs lying as if dead at her feet, once so playful and amusing, had been potentially more dangerous than her husband's huge saber-toothed sehlat, who even subdued by her husband's command had been bristling and furious. But sehlats had long been domesticated on Vulcan.

Lematyas, as Sarek warned her, were considered untamable, and their venom made the slightest bite or scratch potentially fatal, unless immediate medical attention was at hand. And even with it, many died. No one knew if anti-venom would even work on humans - at the time.

She'd just been shaken and frightened by the scene she'd inadvertently caused. Sarek had been almost as shaken as she, shocked, horrified that she'd come so close to death. If the cubs had developed their poison, if they'd scratched or bitten her, if the antidote didn't work on humans, if the antidote was poison itself to her and no other could be found.

If, if, if. She would have died after only a few days on his world. It had haunted him – made him check on her compulsively for a while. And he had never fully trusted her around Vulcan wildlife since. In some respects he'd never trusted her on Vulcan, without his beneficent guardianship. One of the reasons he was still so possessive and protective of her on his world. Another instance of cultural blindness – it was hard for him to conceive that she had been completely ignorant of the instinctive avoidance Vulcans feel for lematya. Of the lessons every Vulcan child learned at three or four. She'd learned some of those lessons since, but mostly simply avoided situations where she'd encounter the rest of the dangerous wildlife.

But still – years later, they were still hitting these cultural snags. How little she had really known, then, or since, about the dangers of life on Vulcan for her. And not just from wild animals. How little **they **had known. How little.

She buried her face in his neck, sobbing a little. In relief. And in lingering fear. And held Sarek even tighter, for he couldn't know why she was really so upset.

"Amanda." He drew her up into his arms. "Whatever frightened you is gone. It's gone. You're safe now."

"I know," she said, trying not to cry, and failing miserably. She wasn't speaking of a non-existent animal this time. She couldn't tell him that, either.

"Amanda, shhh," Sarek said. "It is all right." He picked her up, handling her, as always, as if she weighed nothing at all, settling her against him. The Sarek she knew best. Calm, concerned, kind. "It is gone, and I am here."

She held her real husband tighter. He didn't know how true a saying. His presence didn't banish one of her nightmares, but it helped. "I know. I know."

But her eyes fell on the two frames on her bed table. And she couldn't seem to stop shaking.

_To be continued..._


	12. Chapter 12

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 12**

She woke the next morning to the sound of dawn birds, and the sound of male voices in the courtyard below. She sat up, realizing she was again alone in bed. Her eyes fell on the picture frames and tentatively, she reached out and nudged them with a fingertip, so that even in the dark, she'd clearly see there were two of them.

And then shook herself. "How ridiculous. Maybe you were dreaming all of it."

She heard Sarek coming through the outer rooms of the suite and then he appeared at the bedroom door. And seeing her awake, came into the room.

"I brought you some tea," he said, offering her the cup. She took it, grateful for the diversion as well as the caffeine, and sipped it, well aware he was looking at her with searching eyes.

"Who's down below?" she asked, in hopes of distracting him.

"The guard. They **claim** there were no disturbances last night." Sarek sounded a trifle doubtful, and she supposed she owed much to him for his faith in her. "Of course, it could have been something small. The perimeter security should be tightened at this level. Our bedroom is not a garden where litka can climb. I am having the security reviewed and revamped."

"That's not necessary. I think I just had a bad dream."

"You rarely have such, Amanda."

She shrugged, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Well, it was a long day, yesterday."

"True." He didn't say anything, but she could feel the question in him and she finally looked up.

"I'm all right. I'm fine. Really."

"I will try not to be late, tonight. But if you are well enough, I have an early meeting."

"Don't worry about me," she assured him.

"I am always concerned for you," Sarek frowned, as if she had accused him of not caring for her.

"Yesterday went fine. Today will be easier still. And I have yet to thank you for showing up for my first class."

He half smiled. "I would not have missed it… for the world."

"Maybe I'll teach you something yet," she teased.

"You already have, my wife." Sarek drew back. "I have meetings," he growled.

She laughed and waved him away.

_To be continued..._


	13. Chapter 13

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 13**

T'Lean carried the dress, the precious dress in to T'Pau herself, with two of the guard behind her carrying the box with the priceless jewels.

At T'Pau's direction T'Lean hung it up, and the matriarch reviewed it critically.

"Yes, I believe it will do."

T'Lean wondered how the matriarch could think otherwise, but she said nothing.

T'Pau turned to her, and T'Lean straightened. The matriarch looked at her with considering eyes. "It is time for changes, T'Lean."

There was nothing she could say to that but "Yes, Matriarch."

"Soon my daughter will be presented in Council. And it is traditional that her household be started off properly."

T'Lean could hardly believe where this was going. "Surely she has established her household." She couldn't prevent herself from adding, "Such as it is."

T'Pau, however, took her comment in another way. "You are correct. Her household was not started off properly. It is traditional for a wife to be gifted with appropriate attendants from the household of her family. Traditional for the wife of a clan leader to be gifted with the present first attendant."

"Yes, Matriarch."

"I trust this will not be an issue for you," T'Pau continued. "I have not held your prior views against you – indeed, I myself held my daughter in less than proper regard at one time. No doubt my attitudes were…infectious. For that I must assign much blame to myself. And the last instance was during a time of great stress, even for Vulcans. Especially for Vulcans. I expect that you have now reconsidered your prior views, as I have done."

T'Lean said nothing for a moment. She hardly knew what to say.

T'Pau seemed to take her silence for acquiescence. "She is, of course, unused to Council duties. I think she has rarely attended, even to observe. So she will most need your assistance in this area. But I expect you will wait on her with all due diligence in **all** areas, just as she pleases."

T'Lean felt her fury rise. Wait on that human? Never. She struggled past Vulcan convention and decades of obedience to find the words to refuse her Matriarch.

T'Pau was continuing. "And Sarek as well, of course."

Sarek. T'Lean thought of that. Sarek's house. She had not been to the Fortress since before he had married the human. Part of her rebelled at going there as a bound attendant, however highly placed. But to see Sarek daily, in his own home. To attend Council in Amanda's stead, essentially in his wife's place, at his side. Might he not make proper comparisons? And Amanda so recently chattel. For a moment she resisted, and then her own desire and her own curiosity over came her. Desire to see Sarek regularly, to be with him in a more intimate setting. And curiosity, to see the human where she was so recently chattel. Sarek had been so overcome by _vrie_, she must have been very closely held as chattel, and being human, must also be finding it difficult to return to freedom. Or such freedom as she could have, bonded to such a one as Sarek. Where better for Sarek to see the difference between a human and a Vulcan? Perhaps this was a made opportunity.

"Certainly Matriarch. I would be honored to serve."

T'Pau nodded sagely. "I am pleased."

_To be continued..._


	14. Chapter 14

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 14**

One thing Amanda had trouble adjusting to in her newly resumed life was the passage of time.

As chattel, time had dragged. She had little she'd been allowed to do, nothing to read, few thoughts she was even properly allowed to think. And one disadvantage to being in a telepathic bond with a Vulcan was that he was like Santa Claus in that respect. Though he'd have been horrified at the comparison, and though he perceived her emotions and with a little concentration the gist of her thoughts, rather than thoughts themselves, unless they were touching, still, he'd known when she was bad as well as good. And so she hadn't felt tempted even to daydream. Getting through each day had been surprisingly difficult. Until she'd mastered acceptance, and the serenity that came with it.

Now she was teaching again,with myriad demands on her time. And those same treacherous minutes didn't stick like thick molasses, they flew past. It took all the running she could do, to quote Alice in Wonderland, to stay in one place. She realized that anew when she got back to her office late from class, having been waylaid by teachers and students all glad to see her, only to realize she had – not forgotten she had an appointment to attend T'Pau – but forgotten how quickly time passed when one was **not **chattel - as her computer informed her when she returned to her office, buzzing irritatingly. She glanced at her watch, and blanched. "Oh, Damn!"

She'd have just enough time to get there, perhaps, if she hurried.

She broke every traffic law speeding to T'Pau's palace, flew through the palace's force screens so fast she barely gave them enough time to drop to her flyer's coded transmitter, slid into the hanger reserved for her family with an abrupt halt and a smell of overloaded braking systems, and literally ran pell-mell through the external gardens. The jogging in heavy gravity tugged her hair loose from its clasp and it spilled down her back in waves, but she had no time to spare for arranging it. And it wasn't as if T'Pau hadn't seen it unbound before.

But more than one guard was startled enough out of his Vulcan calm to turn his head as she flew past. When she reached the inner court where T'Pau worked in fine weather, she nearly collided with two of T'Pau's guard walking down the tree lined path, burly enough to be considered walking trees themselves, so big and broad and square she felt like Alice passing the card soldiers in Wonderland. Barely slowing, head down, she veered around them like a busy bee, an animated robot intent on its own tasks. And so intent was she, she yelped in startled surprise as one of them turned, plucked her up in mid-stride and caught her in his burly arms.

"Let me go!" She was at first too shocked to even struggle.

"The matriarch has requested your presence."

"I'm on my way to her. Put me down!" She tried to wrench herself out of the Vulcan's arms, even though she knew from years of marriage to a Vulcan she had no chance of doing so.

"She had requested you be brought. And so you shall."

Her temper flared, and didn't just flare, escalated to supernova. She didn't care whether she had a chance to get free or not. By this time, she just wanted to inflict damage. She did struggle then, determined to get in at least one blow – or a good kick. "Damn it, you let me go!"

He just ignored her, carrying her as if she were nothing at all. Which of course was all she was to him, no more encumbrance than a toddler would be to her. Less in fact. In her personal experience, Vulcan toddlers were a hefty burden, and they could kick too.

By the time she reached T'Pau's inner court she was furious enough that if she could have reached the phaser at his hip, she would have grabbed it and raised the whole house of Surak to its essential elements.

T'Pau didn't even raise an eyebrow as she was carried in. The guard set her on her feet, but didn't release her hands, eyeing her as if she were a wild lematya, holding her wrists tightly enough in one of his hands that he pulled her shoulders back painfully, looking from her to the matriarch he was sworn to protect with his life. The sharp pain momentarily sobered her and she quieted down, suddenly aware she was inches from having one if not both shoulders dislocated. Unlike Sarek, and even Sarek occasionally forgot his own strength with her, this guard wasn't used to tempering his force for human bones.

"Good afternoon, honored daughter. I see that you have finally arrived." T'Pau couldn't have been more blasé, which made Amanda's temper flare again, pain be damned.

"Tell this –this goon!" Amanda struggled again, only hurting herself against the guard's unyielding strength "– to let me go!"

"That will be enough, Sascek."

"Matriarch." He measured Amanda with a glance, then as a precaution took the weapons off his hip and handed them to the other guard, before releasing her hands. She turned to glare at him but she had as much chance of doing anything to him unarmed as a fly against a giant, and he knew it. And by that time, she was more angry at T'Pau.

He was already sauntering away, taking back his weapons from his companion, both of them clearly amused, surprised – and pleased, they might just has well been laughing, if you knew how to read Vulcans – with this unusual diversion to what had probably been a boring day.

She turned back to T'Pau. "Don't ever do that again!"

"Do what?" T'Pau asked, all innocence.

"I put up with a **lot** from this clan, and **for** it, but I draw the line at being dragged here by dagger brandishing, phaser-toting Vulcan G-men. Don't do it again!"

"Perhaps that is more in **your** control. Thee are late. I am accustomed to those who attend me doing so with all due diligence when they are summoned."

"I can't be more than a minute or two late." She realized how she sounded, like a plaintive child.

T'Pau merely raised an eyebrow.

Amanda flushed, realizing that how late she was could hardly matter. To be late could be construed as a terrible insult. Though she didn't think T'Pau would take it so, here she was, late again, and the onus fell on her to explain. "I lost track of time. I've been busy."

"Indeed. I see I am thus no longer of importance in thy life, now that thee has other demands."

She caught herself up, ashamed if T'Pau really thought that were true. She knew from Sarek, that despite all Vulcan's bravado regarding logic, they still suffered from hurt feelings. She drew a deep breath. "I didn't mean that. It's just…these past few days have just been…so hectic. I intended no offense. I humbly, very humbly, beg my honored mother's pardon."

"Attend daughter."

Amanda sighed at this inevitable command and crossed the cobbled court to her mother-in-law's chair, dropping to her knees, and offering her hands.

T'Pau waited until she had the human hands enfolded in her own. "I am not offended, daughter. I have been concerned for thee. And I see my concerns have not been unfounded."

Amanda lowered her head, the touch making T'Pau's concern clear to her. "I appreciate your concern. But there is no need." She looked up. "Really. I am fine."

T'Pau merely raised a skeptical brow, took both Amanda's hands in one of hers, and with the other took her daughter's chin and tipped up her face up. Holding her hands, fingers spayed from chin to temple, the light surface touch of her thoughts deepening to what Amanda recognized from Sarek was an assessment of her physical status. Her face burned as she realized what T'Pau was doing. And there she was, on her knees before the venerable matriarch, late and nearly in disgrace, and now been treated even more like an adolescent. And she was as helpless to prevent this as a child. Sarek had taught her to shield her thoughts. But she had no knowledge and perhaps no ability to shield T'Pau from assessing her physical state. Indeed this was a technique used by parents to assess their children's health. She had used this technique herself with Spock. She could tell from it when he wasn't well, though her ability to understand what was actually wrong with him was limited. And now T'Pau was using it with her, putting her startlingly in her place. It came clearly to her with the bleeding of minds across barriers that happened with mind touches, and with a sudden blinding shock as it never had before, that to T'Pau she really **was **little more than a child.

She had suspected, but never felt until this brush of minds, how clearly T'Pau regarded her as being in that age set that required the beneficent intervention of elders. And that some of her mother-in-law's initial resistance to her bonding had been due to that as well. T'Pau literally hadn't thought her mature enough to make such a commitment for herself. Hardly thought her mature enough now – at least not to take good care of herself. Her face burned anew.

T'Pau probably had no better knowledge of human physiology than Amanda did of Vulcan, but as she finished the assessment and dropped into light rapport one black eyebrow rose skeptically. And disapprovingly. "Thee are drawn. Thee are tired. Thee are not …fine. I am not pleased. To add to my displeasure with thy tardiness, is a greater displeasure with **why** thee are tardy."

Amanda lowered her head, pulling her chin away from the matriarch's cool fingers, unable to bear what she was feeling. T'Pau had become an important person in her life since her captivity. It hurt inexpressibly not to have her approval. To feel her displeasure magnified by the light mind touch hurt even worse. She'd never been on the distaff side of a parental bond, or felt what a child would feel in such circumstances. Until now. She had no parental bond with T'Pau, but the mind touch had given her the same feelings as if she did, and T'Pau's disapproval was …painful. She had to get hold of herself before she could speak. And she felt a sense of kinship for her son. No wonder he wanted far away from all these constrictions. "I'm sorry. I've just had a lot of catching up to do."

"Sit." T'Pau set a cup of tea before her. "Daughter, even a Vulcan cannot …catch up…such an absence in a few days. A human must especially not attempt such."

Amanda was so thirsty from her all out run and subsequent struggle that she forwent manners and drank the cup down. T'Pau shook her head and poured her a second. Amanda drank that one a little more slowly, but with nearly as much thirst and gave her mother in law a shamefaced look of apology. One of T'Pau's few weaknesses was good tea. She probably viewed her daughter gulping it, as Amanda had, the same way a human parent would regard a child gobbling sweets.

Her mouth set in what anyone would take as disapproval, T'Pau forwent her original lecture, and pressed a control. When T'Lean appeared, she ordered, "A carafe of water for my daughter." Turning to Amanda, she said, "Too much tea is **not** beneficial, child."

"I can use the caffeine," Amanda said wryly, but her face was heated with more than the warmth of the day, and her exertions. Since she'd walked – no, been carried in here, - she'd been made to feel about twelve years old. And it didn't help to realize her mother-in-law regarded her as little more than that.

She was not really used to having the matriarch in her life – in her **real** life. She'd barely known her before she'd been confined. T'Pau had only begun to speak of her – and deal with her – as a daughter in her house before she'd become chattel. After that, their relationship had been necessarily artificial and constrained. T'Pau had had little authority over her as chattel; for Sarek had owned her then. But now, she was back in the real world, back in the clan, not just as an unrecognized consort, but as an acknowledge wife and thus daughter. Not merely in the clan, but in the **family**. She had little experience dealing with T'Pau in that role, but T'Pau, it seemed, had considered her such, even though her confinement, and now was treating her as if the relationship was long given. Frowning at her in reproof as if she **had** been gobbling sweets.

"That I can well believe. It still dehydrates, and thee are human. Rest would be more beneficial than artificial stimulants."

"I don't have that option. I'm teaching **eight** classes and seminars, and I haven't read a thing in **six** months." Amanda pushed back her hair distractedly and realized that the clasp she'd fastened it with must have not merely come loose, but fallen and been lost in her all out run. "I'm so far behind in research."

T'Pau merely shook her head again. "My son is a fool."

"He was trying to be nice."

T'Lean appeared with the water and set it before T'Pau, who gestured that she was to serve Amanda. One of the guards approached and laid Amanda's lost clasp on the table. Amanda took it back and glancing at T'Pau in apology, began to pull her hair back in some kind of order.

"If this is how he is …nice, then I shudder to think what thee endured as chattel. Leave that, child. T'Lean will see to it. It is unseemly to do so thyself."

"He meant to show confidence in me." Amanda let go of her hair, and looked up in thanks as T'Lean poured her water, but so froze at the hostile look in the attendant's eyes that she almost missed T'Pau's next words.

"Yet there are less drastic methods of showing approbation than allowing a cherished wife to work herself to exhaustion," T'Pau said dryly, watching as T'Lean, with visible reluctance began braiding Amanda's hair. "Thee should have proper attendants to wait on thee."

"I can wait on myself."

"That is unseemly. Thee are entitled to attendants."

"I don't want them."

T'Pau gave her a direct look. "I repeat, I am most displeased."

Amanda lowered her head, chastened, unsure how to reply to that. She was feeling a little out of her depth here, verbally fencing with the formidable T'Pau as an equal.

T'Lean's warm fingers skimmed across her neck as she drew back another section. After twenty years of bonding, Amanda was sensitized enough to Vulcan touch telepathy that the woman's satisfaction to see her so chastised was almost palpable to her. She jerked her head away a little, uncomfortable and a little resentful at the sensation being imposed on her, even if it was a result of her own erratic shields. T'Pau had the right to chastise her, at least from a Vulcan maternal point of view. But T'Lean did not. In return, T'Lean pulled her hair back a little too abruptly, jerking her chin up. Amanda looked back up at T'Pau, more or less inadvertently. Between the guards' man-handling of her, T'Pau's chastisement, however well intentioned, and T'Lean's rough treatment, Amanda's uncertainty over the unfamiliar setting and encounter was solidifying into resentment.

T'Pau was continuing her scolding. "Thee are over working. This teaching is one thing, but caring for a household and preparing meals are not thy duty. Nor is it suitable for thee to be without personal attendants. Thee should be cared for, so that thee can properly attend to thy rightful duties."

"Are you saying I'm neglecting my household?" Amanda asked, dangerously.

"That I do not know. I am saying thy are neglecting thyself. That much is apparent." The matriarch looked up as T'Lean finished clasping Amanda's hair. "Leave us."

"I don't want them. Not the duties," Amanda qualified, as T'Pau glanced back at her, "the attendants. I don't need them."

"It is unnecessary and unseemly to be without them."

Amanda waited while the chief attendant gathered the tea things, with shoulders set in a chill reproof that needed no words to express, before continuing. "Isn't that **my** business?"

"Thee are my daughter; it is also mine. Thee are not responsible solely to thyself, but to the clan and to me. Thee will have them. I wish it. And even thy proper duties are overmuch. Thee must resign from some of these teachings."

Amanda drew breath, and glanced to make sure T'Lean was gone. She had no wish to embarrass her mother-in-law before her own staff, but she was not giving ground on this. "No." Amanda gave the negative the same emphatic inflection that Vulcans did when they really meant business.

T'Pau drew back a bit, startled, eyebrows raised, unused to refusal, particularly one so bluntly couched. Amanda wondered herself when the last time was that someone said _no_ to the venerable matriarch, particularly with that inflection, but she was unswayed regardless.

"Mother, you don't understand. I **cannot **fail at the first thing I do upon being released."

"It is not a failure if thee-"

"**No.**" She said it again, as unyieldingly as the first time. "My ego has taken quite a beating these past months. Coming back into the world is …hard enough."

"Precisely why-"

"If I did, it would be like saying I had changed, to fail at something I could do perfectly well before. It would say …that I'm not who I was. I won't do it."

"It would say that thee have the sense to recognize that any being has limits."

"That might be what it would say to **you**. What it says to **me** is another thing."

"T'Amanda, thee are **not **who thee was before."

Amanda drew herself up, shocked and hurt. "What a cruel thing to say."

"I do not say it to be cruel. It is a given."

Amanda's eyes narrowed. "You didn't know me - who I was - before. You shunned me for twenty years. You have not the **facts** to make such a comparison."

"Any being who has made the choices…the sacrifices…that you have made must necessarily have changed."

Amanda lowered her head. "I am **all right**. Look, I'll have caught up enough to get a handle on this in a few more weeks."

"I do not like what I am seeing, such that even a few more days seems unsuitable."

"Mother, you cannot expect me to look…as placid…as I was when I was confined – sitting around – with no duties. Naturally I am a bit …harried…now. But it won't be for long. "

T'Pau raised an eyebrow. "Thy duties then were many and of great importance. That thee are here, now, with both thee and thy husband alive and well – or well but for this most recent foolishness - proves thee are hardly a failure under adverse circumstances. I wonder why thee thinks otherwise."

"Because my duties then consisted of doing nothing with good grace."

"Neither I nor thy husband would agree with that assessment. Nor can I believe he approves of your condition now. Thee are overtaxed."

"I am not!"

"I do not say this as denigration."

"**Sarek** has faith in me. He doesn't think of me as some…village idiot."

"Nor do I."

"Then don't …lock me up again."

T'Pau's eyes widened. "That is not what I am suggesting."

"With or without a key, that **is **what you are suggesting. And for a far worse reason than his. I won't accept it."

T'Pau drew back. "T'Amanda-."

"I thought I had my life back, as my own. I thought I was freed. Why can't you just…just leave me alone to live it? Let **me** decide when I am overtaxed!" She was trembling.

The matriarch regarded her for a long moment, long enough that Amanda felt some shame at her hasty words. T'Pau was clearly turning them over in her mind, considering them seriously, considering her seriously before making some decision. But then the matriarch reluctantly shook her head.

"No. I cannot." She said it in the emphatic mode, in spite of her obvious regret in taking that position.

"Mother!" Amanda was shocked.

"I was silent before regarding my concerns. And nearly lost you both. I have done with silence. I have shunned you, and my son in regard to his marriage, with undesirable results and will stand apart no longer. From now on, I interfere where it seems I must."

"What are you saying?" Amanda asked, full of foreboding.

"For now, only that thee will rest the remainder of this afternoon. Thee are clearly overwrought."

"I am not!"

T'Pau ignored that. "When you are better rested, we will discuss this further. This must needs be a long discussion, and thee are in no condition for it."

"I have-"

"Enough." T'Pau snapped the word out, in a tone such as she had yet never used with her daughter-in-marriage. "This is not a request, but a command. Thee are my Daughter, a child of my house. Thee will do as I bid. I am accustomed to obedience in my children."

"I think you are accustomed to anything **but**," Amanda retorted, refusing to be cowed, feeling that way lead disaster, in spite of the sense of unreality she felt at attempting defiance to her formidable mother-in-law.

She **was** well out of her depth now. Sarek had defied his mother in marrying her, but he'd been an adult. Spock, as a child, had become virtually outcast – at least in Sarek's eyes - for defying his father. She wondered if she was going to gain and lose the status of Daughter in the same week. Still she refused to knuckle under. "I see no reason why **I **should be the first."

T'Pau raised an amused eyebrow, her expression almost smiling. "What thee says is true. All my children are …recalcitrant. Unruly. Defiant. And disobedient. These traits runs in our family. Very well. If thee chooses defiance, I am quite prepared to enforce my commands. Thee can go to thy home to rest, or thee will do so here. And thee can go obediently, or thee can be …carried…again. That much choice will I give you. And none other." She waved a hand, and from out of the shadows a guard approached.

Amanda stared at the guard, and back to T'Pau. "You'd do it too," she said, eyes wide, looking from him back to her, seeing that in T'Pau's unyielding gaze, in spite of the matriarch's amused brow.

"Indeed. Threats are illogical." Seeing her daughter was still resistant, she warned, emphasizing her words with the emphatic mode, "Do not test me, T'Amanda. Thee are too precious to me to risk in foolishness." Her visage darkened further. "And I am **not **my son, to so foolishly indulge thee. However my children behave, I am still accustomed to obedience, and obedience I will have. And I have the means well at my hand to enforce it. And will. Continue in this disobedience, and I could command thee to live here at the Palace. Try my patience, and live here thee…**both**…will." She raised an eyebrow. "Do not think that I would not command it."

In the face of that final threat, Amanda capitulated. "All right. **Yes.** I'll go."

"A logical choice." T'Pau held out her hands for the formal leave-taking.

Amanda was still smoldering but habit and tradition brought her to over to T'Pau. But as she dropped to her knees she looked up, rather than bowing her head. "I do not forgive **this**, Mother."

"Fah." T'Pau was unimpressed. "Such a fuss about a nap. I trust thee will be in better temper after."

"Don't count on it. You're correct in one respect, right now I **am** too tired to fight."

"Then I shall look forward to your arguments." As Amanda rose to her feet, she added placidly. "Sascek will see you to your home. And your rest."

Amanda turned in consternation. "Oh, no!"

"Indeed. Perhaps next time, daughter, thee will yield with better grace."

Amanda drew a deep breath, and then, at T'Pau's raised eyebrow, let it out, her shoulders dropping. She settled for a glare and a reminder, tacit threat of the freedom she had again. "I can **still **take that starship ride."

T'Pau looked at first astonished, and then amused. "As thee would say, "just try it", daughter."

Against her will, Amanda's lips twitched. But her humor fled as she recognized the steel in T'Pau's eyes and as Sascek approached. It was hard to tease, and be teased in turn, when the balance of power was so overwhelmingly against you.

And she'd been too recently chattel. As the huge Vulcan shadowed her steps she felt a cold chill steal through her, in spite of the Vulcan heat.

Escorted home, she found the guard stationed himself outside the door of her suite. Amanda just stood there for a moment, separated only by the door panel from him, her arms wrapped around her, her heart pounding in her ears. She could hear him shift position and settle for a long stint. And she swallowed, her heart now in her throat. T'Pau could be as amused as she liked, but she hadn't had a guard set on her. After a moment, Amanda crossed to the window, and looked out, seeing the cruiser with the markings of their clan and the emblem of the palace guard emblazoned on it. A visible symbol. And just beyond it, behind it, the fortress gate.

She stared at them, one superimposed upon the other. As if they were one.

Locked in. Locked up. By gates or guards, what did the method matter?

And felt disbelief wash through her. _This can't be happening again_. _I was just freed. I __**was**__._

And this time it wasn't even Sarek who had confined her.

She turned swiftly, unable to look further, and ran into her own room, needing to put some space between her and the guard, slamming the door behind her, breathing hard. She looked around the room, the bed she had neatly made this morning, everything so normal and ordinary.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no…. I can't be locked up again!_

_Calm down! It's just a nap. T'Pau's heavy handed form of humor. Just do it. Then it will be over with._

_This time. And next time? Do you honestly think you can fight her – any of them – when they decide what they want?_

_You always gave in to what Sarek wanted, from the very first. You're here, aren't you? You married him._

_I loved him. I __**did**__ love him._

_And how much of that was in your own mind, and how much his?_

_That's not true!_

_Are you sure?_

She tried to tell herself she was. But she was so confused she didn't know that she was sure of anything anymore.

_You must be getting better though. It used to be, all Sarek had to do was look, and you folded. You handed yourself over to him in vrie without a murmur. Now it takes a guard._

_A guard. I don't know what's worse, being locked up, or being shadowed by guards the rest of my life. And right now, I have both._

She pulled the clasp from her hair. She ran her fingers through it, and then looked at her shaking hand. She realized she was trembling from head to foot.

And at the back of her mind a litany had started, a new litany, but it seemed to come from somewhere deep within her.

_I want to go home. I want to go home. Oh, please, please. Just let me go home._

_You are home, you little fool. This is your home. It's a little late to start pining for the green hills of Earth. And if you don't do what she says, you might not even have this for long. Do you want to spend the rest of your life shadowed by guards in T'Pau's palace? I don't think Sarek would thank you for that._

_No! She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't dare. And Sarek would never stand for it. .He would be-_

_You never thought Sarek would lock you up either. And this is T'Pau you're talking about. She can do whatever the hell she wants to do. And not even Sarek can stop her if she's really determined. Remember that. You've met your match in her._

_Maybe it was better to be shunned. I'm not sure how much more of this I can __**take**__ from these Vulcans._

She pulled the cover from the bed and tossed it on the floor, revealing the sheets she'd changed that morning. The sight of them made her shut her eyes, for this set was Terran made. She remade the bed with fresh sheets every day, lately sometimes more than daily, the way she and Sarek had been behaving. Since she'd first introduced him to them, Sarek had never lost his appreciation for variety in bed linens. Deep down, she suspected all Vulcans were sensualists at heart. Sarek certainly was. She bought everything from the finest Rigillian bee silk to functional Vulcan weaves made from the tassel of a grain plant. And alternated them all more or less randomly, unthinkingly. These were Egyptian cotton, Italian woven jacquard, elaborately hemstitched - as out of place on Vulcan as she. Just the sight of them made her wish for home even more. She was crying now, silently, shaking, cold all over. She pulled up the top sheet and wrapped it around her, a little piece of Earth, shutting out the Vulcan surroundings, the sight of the ruby red sky through the long windows. And cried herself to sleep.

_To be continued..._


	15. Chapter 15

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 15**

She woke to the familiar sound of her husband's voice, and Sascek answering. Sarek's tone was merely…curious, and Sascek sounded equally non-committal, casual. Friendly, for a Vulcan. They were well familiar with each other. Sascek had once been head of Sarek's security detail, before he'd sent him back to T'Pau.

She sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees, tense with waiting. And then Sarek came through the door. He paused a moment, looking at her.

"Is he still out there?"

"Sascek? Indeed." Sarek looked puzzled, curious, but nothing else. "What is he doing here?"

"He didn't tell you?"

"Only that it was by T'Pau's command he attends you." Sarek flicked an eyebrow. "I would prefer to hear her reasons from you. Has someone threatened you? Or has my wife suddenly become such a dangerous character she requires armed escort?"

"Your mother was displeased that I looked tired. She sent me to rest."

"Indeed," Sarek's expression relaxed into amusement. "I suspected something of the sort. As you have come to discover, she can be a sometimes tiresome ally."

Her arms tightened around her knees. "An ally? She set a **guard** on me." Her voice was shaking.

His eyes widened and he crossed to her side, looking down at her. "You were distressed by this?"

"How do you think I would feel?"

He sat down beside her. "I am sure she didn't intend that reaction. Or understand that you would take it this way. I expect she meant it to show her value of you. Sascek is head of her security force. To assign him to you protection is somewhat of an honor."

"An honor? She threatened me." At his look of utter disbelief, she reiterated, "She **did**. He was out there to keep me in, not to protect me."

One eyebrow rose. "Amanda. Surely not. My mother has come to hold you in very definite regard. She would never intentionally choose to frighten or otherwise distress you."

"That's not how it sounded to me. She said-," she looked up at Sarek, seeing the open skepticism on his face, shook her head, and refused to go into it.

"Amanda. Sascek has no authority to keep you in, as you say. He is bound to protect you, that is all."

"Protect me from what?"

"It is a rather archaic position, though less so with Vulcan's entrance into the Federation. However had you left the room, Sascek simply would have followed you. Where-ever you would have chosen to go." He looked at her. "He did not force you here, did he?"

"No," she admitted.

"He did not prevent you from leaving?"

"I didn't try."

"If you had, he would simply have done as I said."

"But I don't need a guard. Or a puppy dog for that matter," she said. "I don't **like **guards. Anyway, you promised me – you **promised** me – I wouldn't have to deal with guards once we were on Vulcan."

Sarek raised brows in astonishment. "Amanda. I never did."

She drew shocked breath at this double betrayal. "Yes, you did! When we first married. When I had to have those Federation G men tailing me. You told me then when we came to Vulcan, it would all **end**."

Sarek regarded her doubtfully. "I do not believe I did so, not in so many words."

She drew back from him, warningly. "Don't even **try** to go back on it now."

Sarek tilted his head. "Amanda, I am not trying to renege on some perceived agreement, whether I recall it or not."

"Your eidetic memory certainly becomes **selective **when you choose it to."

"Let us not fight about that and merely agree that there is no present need for Sascek to be attending you here and now - that is, if his presence distresses you."

She let out her breath, having expected an argument, and shocked into profound relief by his agreement. She found herself taking more than a few deep breaths, just trying to calm down. "Then please get rid of him? Please? Just send him away." Her voice shook.

He flicked an eyebrow in surprise, but rose, closing the bedroom door behind him.

She heard his voice, too low for her to discern the individual words. To Sascek and then as if he were on the comm. She heard the ignition of an aircar and saw the guard craft through the windows as it took off, shimmering briefly as it passed through the force field windows.

Just the realization that he was gone made her calm down. She shook her head, some sense coming back into it. Sarek had been neither surprised nor upset at the sight of one of T'Pau's guards outside their door, only puzzled, curious. And once he knew the reason, he had seemed almost amused. Just as Sascek had been amused. Obviously neither of them considered this…such a big deal.

It came to her where her husband had gotten some of his heavy handed discipline with their son, and what it must have been like to be brought up by someone who had the equivalent of a personal army at her beck and call. This must seem like business as usual to him. How you show you love someone - by setting a guard outside their door. God, what a strange culture she had married into. And then Sarek's voice speaking with someone else before he once again came through the door and crossed to her. Sat down beside her on the bed, and took her hand.

"I have spoken with T'Pau. I do not understand, my wife. If you were so distressed, why didn't you call me?"

Amanda's eyes widened in astonishment and her face flooded with color. She looked at Sarek, sitting across from her. Waiting patiently for her answer. Her cool, calm, considerate husband. When was she going to realize she had him back? "I … I didn't think of it."

"Indeed." Sarek said nothing for a moment, head tilted to one side, considering that. And her. Puzzled. Then he shrugged, perhaps finding her as incomprehensible as she found him at times. "No doubt you did need the rest."

"Don't **you **start treating me like the village idiot."

"Amanda. I did not intend—"

"And whether I needed it or not is beside the point."

"I don't disagree. Nevertheless, the issue is a moot one now, since the immediate point of contention has passed."

She looked down, her face flushing again. "She seemed serious enough to me." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded plaintive.

"She is usually serious, my wife."

She closed her eyes, thinking of Sarek's recent conversation with the matriarch. "Did you tell her what a coward I was?" She shuddered. "Well, she knows anyway. When she threatened me, I backed down."

Sarek shook his head, truly mystified at this, and drew her up, into his arms. She let herself be enfolded, pressing close, grateful for his warmth against the chill stealing through her. "Amanda," he drew her long hair back, smoothed it, and folded her closer against him. "I think you must have misinterpreted T'Pau's actions. Such personal servants are a part of Vulcan culture. For her to send Sascek with you was a mark of her favor and very high respect. Not otherwise."

She looked up at him realizing she had forgotten that long ago past. When she'd first come to Vulcan, she couldn't walk through this house for tripping over guards, servants, attendants, aides. Vulcans in every corner. Superior always, silently appalled by their clan leader's choice of wife in certain cases, neutral in some, and in others, perhaps in most, she'd swear they'd considered her some sort of spoils of war, a treaty tribute. There were times – even still – when she wondered about that herself.

But whatever they thought of her, it was how they acted that shook her calm. They could sneak up on her without making a sound, pop out of hidden doors and archways, and more than once she'd gotten lost in the huge fortress, not just momentarily lost but totally humiliatingly utterly lost, and had to have rescuers sent to find her and condescendingly lead her back to civilization, making her wish she'd left herself a trail of breadcrumbs. They startled her, they embarrassed her, they intimidated her. They made her feel, they seemed to regard her as a somewhat less than welcome visitor in what was supposed to now be her home. The message at least to her perception, had been clear. They belonged here. She did not.

Part of it had no doubt been the confusion over her lack of caste. And she'd had T'Pau to thank for that.

Vulcan had an elaborate caste system, much of it hereditary and dating from before Surak's time. Aides were a higher caste, an earned position, not merely hereditary. They assisted her husband with his diplomatic work. Attendants and servants were confusing, as the former often did some of the same tasks as the latter, but the former were high caste, and their positions were generally hereditary. They served in some respect as councilors, sometimes as aides, but were also often personal servants, which affected their status not one whit, even though they could also be expected to wait, hand and foot, on those they served. Servants were lower caste, sometimes hereditary, sometimes not, but they did not council, and usually served out of sight and out of mind. In fact, attendants mostly dealt with servants. Guards were guards, and fairly recognizable, though only T'Pau's Palace guard wore livery. Sarek had been formal with aides and servants but less so with attendants and almost…close friends… with the fortress guard. They'd had the interaction of long familiarity.

She had no caste. Or rather, she was outcast. T'Pau had refused to recognize, to sanction their marriage. And T'Pau's authority in such was absolute. Sarek had been frustrated, then furious, but he couldn't budge the old woman. It had left her out of the pale of clan society. Which was not really something she'd ever known, so could hardly miss. But it left the Vulcan staff unsure how to deal with her, caught between T'Pau's disapproval and their clan leader's insistence. It was hardest on Sarek. She was still married, still his bondmate, but T'Pau's refusal to recognize her left her with no family place.

She gathered there was little precedent for her situation (that was putting it mildly) but that her status as an unrecognized wife, technically a consort, was probably something equivalent to a lover. Or a concubine. The way some of those attendants – they were the worst – treated her made their opinion of that pretty plain. She had told herself she didn't care. She knew so little of her husband's culture, she could hardly recognize an insult in it, and wasn't in a position to do much about it if she did.

But Sarek was. Sarek had seemed to care much more, though he had fully understood her position as she had not. And truthfully, she hadn't wanted to know the full extent of the insult she was being given by her mother in law. She'd been newly arrived on Vulcan, suffering from culture shock, still harassed and restricted by an overzealous press even on Vulcan. She had enough problems just dealing with being transplanted, and adjusting to her new home. Perhaps it had been a blessing in disguise, since being shunned had meant she had that much less of Vulcan culture to deal with.

And as no one but T'Pau dared treat Sarek – or her by extension -with disrespect, once Sarek made his own position with regard to his wife plain, it didn't matter all that much to her. True, she was outside of clan politics but she knew nothing of them. For Sarek though, those politics were his life. But within a month of her coming to Vulcan, Sarek had lost patience with clan politics and clan retainers both. And he'd radically reorganized his household, virtually banished all clan retainers from their personal quarters. Where they were absolutely required, he reorganized their duties.

The servants worked when they were not in residence, the aides moved their offices to another wing, and visited Sarek for scheduled meetings in his office, the attendants were largely sent back to serve T'Pau. And the guards worked at a more distant perimeter. She rarely had to deal with retainers after that. And those that failed to treat her with the deference and respect Sarek demanded when they did come across her were summarily dropped without warning. She had been right about Sarek from the first. Her calm, considerate, logical husband could be quite formidable. And when he chose, he knew how to give a lesson.

She might have been daunted by that, but she was so occupied with getting some sort of footing in her new life that she had not the time to dwell overly much on things she couldn't change. Things where she had no authority. And she had no real authority, due to her lack of real place, in clan doings.

There'd been a whole cottage industry built around serving her husband, one which she had neatly put her foot into upon her arrival. Not that she'd intended, or ever asked to have that happen, but it had. She'd felt more than a little guilt about that, not that anyone had ever blamed her for it, not in so many words, anyway. A lot of people had lost their positions after she had arrived. But the fact was, her husband had grown up, was used to being surrounded by courtiers, attendants, aides, servants.

So, of course it **wouldn't** disturb him to see a guard at their door. For him it was probably more startling to have them always gone. He'd done that for her. Or because of her. It hardly mattered which. She was the reason for it. Angry and upset that his wife was not accorded her proper place in the clan, he had paid in full - essentially denied the clan their own established place in his personal life. It showed an inexorable side to her husband she hadn't, then, expected. She had forgotten that too.

She looked up at Sarek. "I guess my reaction was… a little irrational."

"T'Pau was clearly distressed as well, to act thus."

She looked up at him. "Thank you for sparing my ego another blow, telling her you wanted them gone. I should have made it clear to her myself this afternoon. But..." she hesitated, looking back on that interview. She still felt intimidated by T'Pau's threats. And she hadn't felt the matriarch had been entirely teasing, in spite of Sarek's amusement.

"Amanda, you neither lack courage, nor do you suffer for the lack of it in T'Pau's eyes. My mother can be somewhat heavy handed in making a point. She has been too long used to rule." He looked at her bowed head. "Did you at least sleep a little?"

She nodded, not bothering to add that since she had first cried her eyes out, it hadn't done her much good. She still felt tired, and added to that now the bone deep washed out feeling she always felt after one of those hopeless cries.

"Are you hungry?"

She looked up, half smiling, amused. Her husband, at least, was predictable. "Do I take that to mean **you** are starving?"

He reached out and caressed her cheek with his hand. "I am starving to see you smile. If for nothing else than the lack of seeing such when I walked in would I tell my mother to keep her guards from my door."

She smiled for real this time, even as her face colored. "I should have been a great fool not to marry you, my husband."

He leaned down, and kissed her. And then kissed her again. And again. He reached for her, and she felt his displeasure, though the bond, as his searching fingers encountered cloth.

"You are dressed," he complained, doing his best to reverse that situation. "I hope this is a temporary lapse, my wife, and not a new trend. We have discussed-"

"Yes. I haven't forgotten **my** promises."

"The evidence…"

"I was upset. I won't do it again. Don't nag."

"I do not nag. I note."

"Funny how your noting sounds a lot like nagging. And I thought you were hungry?" she asked, as he finished undressing her, and drew them both down.

"Yes." Sarek murmured, and he drew the Terran sheet aside, and then over them both. "Very hungry. Indeed."

They never did get that meal.

_To be continued..._


	16. Chapter 16

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 16**

Amanda woke before Sarek that morning, a rare occurrence. But she'd slept most of the afternoon, and Sarek had had a full day of work, and then a very full evening making love to her. She slid out from under his arm and looked down at him, her heart so full of love for him she wondered that it didn't break.

He had lost weight in the last six months. And there was a little gray at his temple, that hadn't been there before. It suited him, made him even more distinguished. Yet, still, in spite of the hollows in his cheek and temple, the stripped look of his frame, the hint of grey, he was so beautiful a man he took her breath away.

Her love seemed only have increased, not diminished, by her recent stint as a chattel. She thought that ought to be some sort of contradiction. It shouldn't make **sense **that she should love the man who had raped her. And then who had – even with her full consent, and in part to the restrictions she'd worked out with Vulcan healers and historians – locked her up and kept her a prisoner for six months, with no sure expectation of her ever being released.

For six months, she'd survived largely by feeling as little as possible. For if she'd allow herself to feel a true response to her situation, she would have gone mad or gotten mad, or gotten herself killed. And Sarek as well. For six months, she'd been starved for feeling, for love, for affection, for simple connection to another being in an intimate way.

And when Sarek had released her, had given that option back to her, all that had flowered anew within her, like a desert plant swelling in bloom in the autumn rains after the parched months of summer had past. Flowered for him. She loved him still. She loved him more than ever. Maybe it did make some sort of sense. She could have lost him, lost herself, lost them. And yet he had recovered, and she had her life back. Her love back.

Part of it was relief. That was easy for her to understand. Part was gratitude, plain and simple. She was grateful. That was harder for her, because to the human in her it seemed incongruous to feel gratitude to the man who had hurt her so. But perhaps after twenty years of marriage – and bonding – to a Vulcan, she wasn't fully human anymore. She couldn't fully understand the powerful biological forces compelling him. But she had some appreciation. And that he could discipline himself to deal with her now in an equal way again, that he'd found the strength of will to deny himself the right to keep her confined, earned her respect and yes, her gratitude. She was grateful, profoundly grateful. He'd never had to let her go. He could have kept her a prisoner forever. It had been his choice.

Small wonder her heart swelled with love, affection, gratitude and yes, pride in him. She was proud, full of admiration for what he'd managed. It was no more than what she'd hoped, but he had been so ill, consumed by the chronic fever and there had been times she had despaired that she had lost him forever to it. Yet some part of her, even in the depths of her despair had always trusted that her husband had been there, all along, in the stranger he'd become to her. She gone down into that dark place, believing she'd had an equal partner there, that her sacrifice would not be in vain if **he **could help it, that he would fight as hard as she had been fighting, each in their own way, for both of them, for their marriage. Not the sham it had become.

Now, looking back, she almost quailed, she was almost terrified, at what she had risked. At the real horror of what they both had been through, and the blow, the near miss Vulcan biology had dealt them, which had nearly destroyed both of them. Did anyone deserve that kind of trust? And yet it had worked. Her love, her trust, her sheer belief in the principles of the man she'd married had been well founded. She didn't blame him for what he had sunk to. He had never intended it, no more than any Vulcan in _Pon Far_ succumbed to the fever. He had been almost as powerless as she before it. But only almost. He had resisted it, denied it, fought it back. Even if he'd had to draw her down into that dark place to recover himself, to force her there, to keep her there, until he could master the madness possessing him, she honored him for clawing his way out of that dark place, fighting for her, for them both against the dark forces of his biology, the violent Vulcan past that had nearly claimed him, them. For finally rising above it all and taking her with him, back into the light.

She had never admired him, loved him, trusted him more. What a marvel he was, shackled by the chains of the jealous mistress that was Vulcan biology, to have done that. For her.

And yet at the back of her mind flickered an ignoble fear. That if he asked her, if she needed, to do it again, could she? Now that she knew, really knew, what being a chattel really meant, and how easily it could be forever. His condition hadn't been an affectation, it had been real, and he had struggled hard to escape it. Both of them still bore the scars from that experience. And there were no guarantees he wouldn't succumb to it again. No one knew.

Some sane rational part of her looked at each situation in her changed circumstances: her life, her love. And constantly evaluated: was she strong enough today to go back to chattel status? This minute. Next minute. Five days from now. Now. Yesterday. Today.

How she quailed before the thought of _today_.

Could she do it, would she submit, would she panic, try to run, flee, would Sarek try to catch her, or let her go, and regardless of either, would she, would he, survive? _Could_ she survive? Knowing what she knew now.

In the privacy of her own thoughts, she admitted she was terrified of the possibility.

She loved, she trusted, she honored her husband, now more than ever. And yet, she was terrified of – not him – not even so much of chattel status. She had survived it before; no doubt she would find some way to do so again. But of the possibility. The awful possibility.

She only hoped if it came to pass her courage would rise again as it had before. It was hard to believe it would, could, when now she was so terrified. And yet, when she thought of it rationally, steeled herself to the reality, the real possibility, she knew she could give her life for her husband. She had no qualms at all about surrendering her freedom.

And yet some part of her was panicked.

The contradiction was tearing her to pieces.

She didn't mean to obsess about it. Most of her firmly believed the only way to live was to move on, and trust in him, in the future. But she had yet to fully leave behind, shake off, the shackles of her past experience. She tried to ignore that hypercritical judgmental voice analyzing her, evaluating her, holding her up to this newly defined standard of her life. And finding her at times able and at times so wanting. The worst of it was that it wasn't Sarek's voice. It was her own.

Sometimes she thought herself such a …coward. She was so ashamed of that. She never wanted Sarek to know how much she really did fear. For all that she'd confessed it, he didn't believe her. He thought so highly of her. How could he be bonded to her, and not realize what a sham she was.

And she'd been having dreams too. Normally, she didn't dream, or if she did, she seldom remembered them. But lately, she'd been dreaming the same dreams over and over. Of her standing on the parapets, watching a flock of starlings wheeling in a ruby sky. Then it was as if she was one of the starlings, flying free, flying over a field of gorsha, a tall reedlike plant, the sun sinking low, into darkness, the shadows of the plants on the sand, tall and straight, dark and light, starlings wheeling against the barred patterns. Herself flying free, seeing the shadows, the image, the shade and shadow. And then the sand rising up to meet her and realizing she was falling. Plummeting to the ground. Pinioned, broken, swallowed up by barred shadows. She always woke, with a gasp, before she hit the bottom.

She wasn't stupid. She understood something of what she was dreaming. And she despised herself for it. Didn't she have enough to deal with in real life, without torturing herself in her sleep with morbid dreams? She hadn't even done that when she was a chattel.

At least she had yet to disturb Sarek when she started awake from that nightmare.

At times she **felt** like such a coward.

_Sarek doesn't think you're one._

_He wouldn't. He is wonderful. Far better than you deserve. All that and he loves you too. Finally. Forever. _

That fierce possessive pride rose in her again, and she leaned down and kissed him, lay against him and kissed him, assertively, even aggressively by Vulcan standards. Holding him to her in that desperate need for closeness that still came over her in panicked waves, that translated into frantic lovemaking. He too, but he was getting over his relief at their resumed life, coming back to normal. She wasn't sure about herself.

As always in response to aggressiveness from her, he responded in kind, rolling her over, pinning her wrists, and covering her so quickly she had hardly a chance to draw breath between her kiss and the automatic restraint he used when she surprised him. She saw his eyes open, clearing from clouded sleep to full wakefulness even as he settled against her, and felt him stop himself from taking her in an equally aggressive manner.

"Amanda! What are you doing?"

"Is it wrong, to want to kiss my husband?" she asked.

He looked down at her, naked, pinned, and shook his head in disbelief. And relief. "Only if you do not acknowledge that such actions will result in more than a kiss in return." He let her go, propping himself up on one elbow, looking down at her. "Amanda, you trust too much to my control."

"I don't care one whit for your control. I love you."

He shook his head again, but this time half smiled. "You are entirely, hopelessly human, my wife."

"Oh, please. I don't just love you. I **want** you. I don't want 'more than just a kiss in return'" The way she was feeling, she couldn't possibly get close enough. But she did look up at him, pleadingly for there was a way to be closer still. "Do I have to beg?"

Green flame flickered in her husband's eyes. He drew a deliberate breath, and let it out, in a controlled relaxation, letting her hands go as he did so, his arms reaching under her to draw her up against him, setting down to kiss her. Gentle, careful, with the controlled passion it seemed she'd known all her life.

Something eased in him as she surged up against him, wrapped arms and legs tightly around him, returned his kiss. Avidly. Too assertively for a Vulcan female, and yet he did not care. His control, now that he was fully aware, was more than equal to it. He lost himself to passion, but with no fear of the dark places. So that where he ended and she began seemed inconsequential…to both of them. And for that while, Amanda too felt at peace.

_To be continued…_


	17. Chapter 17

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 17**

Their lovemaking past, Amanda was half asleep again, listening to the sound of her husband's heart, different from a human heart but still reassuringly regular. Over the years, sleeping night after night in her husband's embrace, the sound of his heartbeat had become a sort of talisman to her, a sign that all was right in her world, a tacit security blanket. She felt that nothing could go wrong, or be wrong, curled up against his warmth, with that strong steady beat echoing under her cheek, and his arms holding her close.

And yet her behavior nagged at her. She had to get hold of herself. She couldn't hold him all the time. They couldn't spend all day, every day, in bed. T'Pau had her number, in one respect. She was acting like a child. She was painfully aware that Sarek had come back to himself, and yet she, with no biological imperatives plaguing her, was still struggling to reclaim her own sense of self. Everything so familiar and yet she felt so strange in all of it.

She still had to force herself to walk through the gate, to answer calls on the comm, to not shrink from the staff when she came across them in corridors and hall ways. When she was teaching she felt most like herself. At the Academy, in her office, she felt…mostly all right. At home, she felt torn. Shattered, more like. When she was with Sarek, when she was touching him, she felt safe. When she wasn't, even if they were in the same room, sometimes she was fine. And sometimes it took all her self control not to reach for him, cling to him, try to get closer than close. She didn't understand it. It didn't make any sense. And though she'd been trying to control the impulse, although Sarek had responded, even shared some of that at first, the profound relief they both shared, now he was starting to note it. He didn't seem to mind that she was still so emotional, but he did look at her questioningly. And she had no answers for him.

Sarek stirred a little, and she couldn't stop herself from tightening her own arms in protest. He looked at her. "Amanda, do you plan to keep me a prisoner in this bed forever?"

"Only temporarily."

"That is tempting, but I am afraid not."

"You don't need to rush off, do you? Today is a holiday."

He sat up, propped on an elbow, sliding her from off to underneath him. "I don't understand why you persist in giving this day such an inaccurate term?"

"Because school is closed for the opening of the Council season. One of the few days it **does **close. And you don't have any meetings this morning, and the Council itself doesn't convene until late this afternoon. And that's just a formality."

Sarek looked down at her, amused at her characterization. "Just a formality. Indeed. Nevertheless it is an important formality."

"I know the whole **planet** takes off to note it. That seems like a holiday to **me**. Still it's the same ceremony every year."

"Not quite." Sarek looked at her bemused. "Certainly not this year. Amanda, surely you-"

There was a tap at the door, and Sarek looked up as it opened. Amanda gasped and dove under the sheets while Sarek sat up, drawing a robe around himself, unabashed and unsurprised as T'Lean walked in.

"Leader."

"Good morning, T'Lean," Sarek said easily. "I trust it is a fine day for the opening Council ceremonies."

"That is true." She lowered her gaze. "I am come to serve."

"I think breakfast would be in order," Sarek replied. He glanced down at Amanda, who mouthed _what is she doing here?_ And raised a quizzical eyebrow. "My wife and I skipped dinner. We are thus both of us hungry." He paused a moment, assessing that in himself, and added, "Very hungry."

In spite of her position, Amanda couldn't help but snicker at that. Sarek gave her a look of innocence and reproof mixed.

"I will see that it is prepared and brought immediately," T'Lean swept out of the room.

Amanda waited enough to be sure of Vulcan hearing and then sat up, still clutching the sheet around her. "What is she **doing **here?"

"Your reaction was …very unusual…my wife." He looked at her. "And continues to be. She is gone now, who exactly are you covering yourself against? He took hold of the sheet she had drawn around herself and pulled it away. "I happen to be quite familiar with your appearance."

"This strange woman walks into my bedroom when I am stark…and you say **my **reaction is unusual? And I don't want her to serve me **breakfast**. I want her out of my house! Why is she here? No, scrap that. Just tell her to **go**."

Sarek sat back against the headboard, unperturbed, looking as if his mind was more on breakfast. "I thought you met with T'Pau yesterday regarding this?"

"T'Pau. Of course. This is **her** doing!"

"Indeed." His eyes went back to hers. "She told me, yesterday, that she spoke to you of the necessity of having proper attendants. And that you agreed."

"That's about all she said. And I **didn't** agree. I told her I didn't need or want them. And I don't.

Sarek merely raised a skeptical eyebrow. "She was quite definite, my wife."

Amanda thought back to that conversation, and realized she had said no to the attendants. But then T'Pau had then commanded it. And then they went on to argue about her dropping some of her classes and never got back to the attendants. And T'Pau had, of course, naturally, inevitably had taken her command as a final word. Amanda moaned a little. "Maybe you're right. I said no, she ordered it, and then we got onto arguing about that and other things, and never got back to it. Specifically. But I did say no. And she didn't say anything about having them follow me home. First Sascek and now this. Sarek, send T'Lean back to T'Pau. Now."

"I will send her back if you wish, but not now. There are far more important considerations today. My mother will no doubt be busy preparing for the Council Session. As should you."

"What has it to do with me?"

Sarek raised his brows. "What **did** you speak about in your meeting yesterday?"

"Not much. Nothing about this. She took one look at me, told me I looked tired, and sent me off with Sascek to rest. She never spoke to me about T'Lean, or about the Council session today. "

"You did not plan to attend the Council session?"

"Why should I?" Amanda turned to him. "If you want me to, I will, but you know I almost never go. I don't have any business there. A few times I've gone to watch, but it's always the same and-"

"Amanda." Sarek looked pole-axed. "Surely you understand the difference this year. My mother has recognized you. She has called you Daughter."

Amanda eyed him, uncertainly. "Yeesss," she temporized. "And that would be nice - if she didn't also take it as license to interfere in our lives. Sending guards and now servants. There are times when I think I misappreciated being shunned all these years. But what has **that** to do with the Council?"

Sarek's brows rose to his bangs. "Amanda. This is the formal opening of the Council session for the season."

"I **know** that."

"All the Clan hierarchy must attend. **All**." He stared at her meaningfully. She drew a sudden shocked breath. "Yes. It is no longer a question of whether you choose to merely watch the ceremony. You must attend the ritual formalities. You need not attend the working sessions, though of course, you now have the right. But the opening ceremonies are traditionally attended by all clan leaders."

She stared at him. "But I'm human."

"That does not matter. You are my wife. T'Pau's acknowledged Daughter. Amanda, I know she spoken to you as such."

"Yes, she's taken to calling me daughter, and insisting on the appropriate title for her in turn. I thought she was just trying to be nice."

"Nice?"

Amanda made a face. "You know what I mean."

"You took her use of such a title as a meaningless social gesture?"

"Well, I didn't understand that she meant **this** by it," Amanda argued. "How could I?"

Sarek flicked an astonished brow as if in testament to his wonder as to how could she not. "Indeed. T'Pau would never be so imprecise with such important words. And relationships. This is part of what her acceptance means. Though long past due, it means you have clan responsibilities now, responsibilities that cannot be forgone."

"Sarek, I -"

There was another tap at the door, and T'Lean walked in, carrying a full tray. Amanda had forgotten all about her in the face of this new and overwhelming issue, and Sarek still had the sheet in his hand. She made a strangled sound, snatched the sheet from Sarek, dove back it again. T'Lean resolutely ignored her, placing the tray on the bed. Sarek picked up a glass from the tray and offered it to Amanda. "Juice, my wife?"

"If you want it thrown right back at you," she threatened, _sotto voice_, though T'Lean, standing only a few feet away, surely heard every word. Sarek merely looked amused.

"My wife will dress in thirty minutes, T'Lean. You are dismissed until then."

"Leader."

This time Amanda didn't care if T'Lean was out of earshot. "I don't want **her** helping me to dress!"

"But the gown for the ceremony is a priceless antique," Sarek countered, with frustrating practicality. "T'Pau sent it over yesterday evening, with the appropriate ornaments. Neither is a simple matter to don. T'Lean is here to help you with that. And to do your hair in the traditional style. You're approximations of such are fine for casual events, but not suitable for a formal Council opening."

Amanda gave up and tossed the sheet over her head. "I think I want to die."

Sarek's was clearly distracted by the aromas of breakfast, and he went to fetch the tray. "I think not. You are just hungry, having missed dinner – and I suspect lunch yesterday. And it is nearly midmorning again. I am very hungry as well. You will feel better after you eat."

Amanda considered spending the rest of her life in her calm white world. There was a lot to be said for sheets. "Not me. I couldn't possibly eat a thing."

Undaunted, Sarek pulled the sheet away again, and presented her with a glass of juice. "Amanda, you have not been eating properly for some time. I have been concerned. I am sure you would not wish to …faint…in the middle of the formal Council opening, before all the clan leadership, with most of the planet's population watching, not to mention all the colonies…"

"I never faint."

Sarek glanced at her meaningfully.

"Oh -" Amanda took the juice and drank it down as if she were wishing it was something stronger. "All right. I'll **eat**. Though it is asking a lot of me, today of all days. I'll be nervous enough not to want to eat a thing for the rest of my life. Are you sure there isn't some way for me to get out of this?"

"You would have to divorce me, my wife," Sarek said placidly, setting the tray before them.

She sighed. "And to think I had that chance six months ago, and blew it. What **was** I thinking?"

Sarek was opening covers over the dishes, more intent on his obvious hunger than her teasing words. "Come and eat. It will be a very long day for you. You are correct the traditional opening ceremonies are somewhat tedious." He filled a plate and handed it to her.

She took it absently, staring at him. "I guess you're kind of happy about this, aren't you?"

"I would be happier if it had not taken my mother twenty years to acknowledge your worth." His eyes met hers. "But…yes. I am well pleased."

She took a deep breath. "Then I'll be there. With bells on."

"The attendants will be carrying the bells, my wife. But I am glad you have reconsidered against divorce. I have…" he offered her a raspberry, fresh from her garden, apparently determined to tempt her. She'd always been wild about them. "Grown rather fond of you." He said it with a half smile, clearly teasing.

She eyed him warily. "Very funny. It's just an expression. 'be there with bells'. It means I-"

"Amanda," Sarek eyed her meaningfully. "You are not eating. T'Lean will be back shortly. Today will be a long, tiring day. Must I feed your breakfast to you bite by bite to induce you to eat it?"

She looked down at the full plate she'd been given, that she had no interest in emptying. "That might be fun, too."

"We have no more time for fun. I am quite serious."

She looked down at her plate, sighed and nodded.

Sarek frowned. "Perhaps not **that** serious, my wife."

She gave him a scapegrace smile, and picked up her fork.

Sarek had been very hungry. He'd cleaned up three quarters of the breakfast T'Lean had brought and was working on Amanda's, eating two bites for every one he managed to coax her to swallow. When T'Lean came through the door again, they'd half forgotten her, engaged in sharing her breakfast, and something more. Amanda started again as T'Lean came through the door, this time without notice, having arrived when she was to be expected. Sarek was nearly as startled as his wife, but covered it better. He pinned Amanda instinctively when she gasped, but in the next moment released her, somewhat amused by his own lapse. T'Lean stood just inside the door, clearly unamused.

"I believe T'Lean is here to dress you, my wife." He raised an eyebrow. "A shame, as I believe you appear to your best advantage as you are."

Pinned as she'd been, she'd been unable to dive under the sheet again or clout him as his comment deserved. And after years of Vulcan's "no clothes in the bedroom" customs, she had no robe handy. Unlike Sarek, who apparently had known all along that T'Lean was going to be here, and had his prepared. He could at least have done the same for her._ "_I'll get you for this_,"_ Amanda mouthed, moving behind the cover of Sarek's broad back.

"It was my mother who set you up, Amanda." Sarek said. "I could prefer to keep you, in bed, indefinitely."

"You could at least have - Get me a robe."

He traced her cheek with a finger. "After such threats and insults as you have been issuing all morning? I think not. Your behavior has been too …wicked…to merit such civil consideration. I believe the phrase is, **rise and shine**, my wife."

"Oh, you!" Bridling, she reached for the sheet. But when she tugged on it, she discovered part of it was under her amused husband, and he was not budging. "I will get you back for this," she muttered, and defiantly threw the corner of the sheet aside. She was not normally morbidly modest. Mostly it was because it was T'Lean.

"Good morning, T'Lean," she said, determined to plumb her shame to the depths as she stalked past her to the bath.

"My lady." She needn't have worried. T'Lean kept her gaze lowered, as if she couldn't bear to look at her. Amanda preferred that, remembering the hateful glance the woman had given her the day before. Returning, she glared at her husband, tying the belt of her robe, and swept the room with an imperious glance worthy of T'Pau herself.

"So where is this precious dress?"

"I will do your hair first, my lady."

Amanda sighed. "Great."

"My lady?"

"Nothing. I meant, thank you, T'Lean."

"Thanks are illogical. It is my duty."

"Oh, that word." Amanda sat at her dressing table, and met T'Lean's eyes in the mirror. "I mean, yes, we all have …duties."

After a moment's visible reluctance, T'Lean picked up a comb and began to draw it through Amanda's hair.

It seemed to take forever. Amanda had no patience for the elaborate hairstyles Vulcan women seemed to favor, and had become expert at fashioning ones that looked similar enough but could be done in ten minutes or less. But T'Lean was of the old school. She didn't brush Amanda's hair, but went through it with a comb, practically strand by strand, if Amanda was any judge, working through any tangles as if reluctant to pull a single strand too roughly. And then she began to try and braid it in the sections required, but she made several false starts, obviously unfamiliar and unused to working with hair that curled. Sarek had curly hair, but it tended to be rare in Vulcans. Her hair did not lie smoothly, even when braided.

Sarek had come in, fully dressed. Still in a robe, Amanda could have throttled him for that alone. He had watched disapprovingly while T'Lean frustratedly undid the section she had just tried to plait. Perhaps nervous under Sarek's dark gaze, T'Lean ran the comb a little more roughly through the unplaited section and Amanda, with one eye on Sarek – she wasn't yet too sanguine about his dark gazes either - and one on T'Lean, wasn't expecting it. She winced as T'Lean pulled unexpectedly hard on a snarl.

Sarek stepped in a pace, his hand covering T'Lean's, over the comb. "I am surprised, T'Lean. After years of serving T'Pau, I would think you had better skill. She would never tolerate such…clumsiness. Nor will I." He added tersely, his voice icy cold.

"It curls," T'Lean said, her frustration plain.

"Yes." Sarek reached out and ran his hand down Amanda's unruly waves and then reached out and caressed his wife's face. Amanda eyed him in the mirror uncertainly, the warmth of his hand and the icy cold of his voice as he chastised T'Lean intimidating her. And she was still shocked that he was so demonstrative in front of a third party. "My wife's hair curls. An attractive characteristic." He slid his fingers under his wife's chin, tipping her face up. "She is a very pretty girl, is she not, T'Lean?"

A wave of embarrassment flooded over Amanda, both at Sarek's use of that term, and his manner, but she couldn't even look down, held as she was. She saw them both in the mirror. T'Lean had let go of her and stepped a pace back, and Amanda saw that the woman had that look on her face that Vulcans get when they are masking strong emotions. Perhaps she was as embarrassed as Amanda. Or it could be some other strong emotion she was feeling. Amanda tried to pull her chin out from Sarek's hand, but he only lifted it a little higher, his other hand on her shoulder holding her down, so that she subsided. "Is she not, T'Lean?" he asked again, softly, but with the demanding edge of the emphatic mode.

"I am no judge of …human…beauty."

"Obviously not. I was not referring to those sole standards."

"I am not qualified to judge."

He still held Amanda firmly in place. "No. You are not. T'Lean." His voice was soft, but still had that edge that was almost a threat. "I hold my wife in ….very…high regard. Look at her. Look at her well." He tipped Amanda's chin higher. "She is to be not one iota diminished when you are finished with her. Not one strand of hair pulled. Not a scratch to her skin from some pin or jewel. Not the slightest discomfort. You will serve and care for her very well. As well as if she were your Matriarch. Do you understand?"

"Yes, leader."

Sarek met Amanda's eyes in the mirror, and his hand relaxed from his unyielding grip, moved to caress her cheek. "See that you do."

There was no mistaking the green flush on the Vulcan woman's lowered face, at least not to Amanda. Amanda looked at Sarek, trying to catch her own breath, shaking her head a fraction in sheer disbelief, almost trembling. He raised an inquiring eyebrow. When she pressed her lips together, her eyes moving to the Vulcan woman, he turned to T'Lean. "Leave us for a moment. You may bring my wife some tea. I noticed it was missing from breakfast."

T'Lean looked up with one of her first shows of satisfaction. "Matriarch has said before she is not to have tea."

Sarek's look was that of barely restrained exasperation. "My mother does not rule in this Household, T'Lean. I do. Prepare it and bring it. Now."

T'Lean looked at him mulishly, but left.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Amanda turned around to face him directly. "Sarek. What are you doing?"

"I am instructing your attendant in your care, since you seem either unwilling or unable to do so," Sarek said, frowning. "Her role as attendant does not grant her the right to hurt you. Even slightly. Or to argue with your orders, even by default. You should not tolerate it from her. Such as she can only be handled in one way. Which you are not employing. I might ask the same of you as regards what you are doing?"

"It's your behavior I'm having trouble with. She already hates me, and you're antagonizing her further."

"I? Antagonizing her? How is that even possible?"

"Well, you're embarrassing me. You're treating me like a…like a chattel."

"Amanda." His eyes widened at that accusation. "I think not."

"Holding me up like an…object. Fondling me before her."

"I am not entitled to handle my own wife?" Sarek asked, astonished.

"In front of her? And…like that? What's gotten into you? You've never…touched me…in front of others."

Sarek shook his head. "Amanda. You are entirely mistaken."

"I was just here. Are you saying it didn't happen?"

"You are misinterpreting the situation. T'Lean is a personal attendant. She is bound to your service."

"Not **my**-"

"To this family's service, which includes you. And she is now detailed to you by T'Pau herself. Her role requires attending you in whatever is required, even in the most intimate family situations. You may simply consider her, as…part of the furniture. An extension of yourself. As if she is not present."

"I can't do that."

"Then you must get used to it. She is an attendant. Yours."

"**You** couldn't do that."

"I have just done so. And have no qualms about so continuing. Amanda, it was what I was born to."

"Well, I wasn't. And T'Lean is only here for the day, so there's no reason to make a big issue of it. To her or to me."

"How long T'Lean serves you is between you and T'Pau."

"And I'll speak to your mother about **that**, as soon as I can."

"Indeed. However, T'Lean is here now. I do not intend to change my behavior for an attendant's consideration."

"What about for mine?"

He half smiled. "You wish me not to treat you as my wife in my own private quarters? I think not, Amanda."

"I wish you not to not to **embarrass** me in mine."

"Amanda, I do not understand this. You cannot be embarrassed, certainly not before T'Lean. Nor can you be…humiliated. Nor can she be antagonized. I think you do not yet understand your status."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked warily. For months, the word status had meant her chattel status, of which she still felt a flush of shame.

"You are my **wife**. T'Pau's acknowledged **daughter**." Seeing her still uncomprehending and apprehensive, he added, with a touch of exasperation. "Her **heir**. You have, my wife, higher status than **any** other woman in the clan, **except** for T'Pau. Do you understand **now**?"

She did, finally. Her eyes widened with horror at the prospect. No wonder T'Pau had resisted giving her this status all these years. Amanda swallowed hard as all the implications of this dawned on her.

"You need to have no care for T'Lean's status relative as to yours." Sarek continued. "She has **no **status relative to yours. None at all."

And Amanda finally understood why T'Lean hated her so.

_To be continued…_


	18. Chapter 18

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 18 **

"But I'm human," Amanda pointed out, when she had thought through all the implications.

"It does not matter." He looked at her flushed face. "So you see, what T'Lean thinks or does not think, or how I behave in the privacy of my quarters, before a personal attendant, sworn to wait on you hand and foot, is hardly a factor of that status. You are a most important person, in clan hierarchy."

Amanda shook her head, impatient with that before her more immediate concerns. "She's still **here**, though."

"Not in the sense that you persist in regarding her. You certainly needn't suffer any clumsiness at her hands." He frowned. "Perhaps I should never have banned all courtiers. I see you have yet to appreciate the full nature of attendant service."

"I just don't appreciate that after years of rarely so much as taking my hand in public, you are now fondling me like a pet sehlat before a woman who dislikes me."

"Like a- You entirely misunderstand me if you mistake my interest in you to be no more than that toward a pet. And T'Lean has no logical reason to hold you in animosity."

"I don't think reason has much to do with her prejudice."

"I grow weary of discussing T'Lean," Sarek said. "Amanda, she is not worth **half** so many words. Particularly on such a day as this."

"She's high caste."

"Her family is of ancient lineage and highly placed politically, and her position is hereditary. Certainly her position as T'Pau's attendant, and now as yours, gives her a position of potentially great power in the clan. That means little next to your status. Hers is derived primarily from yours."

"Up till now I didn't **have** any status."

"And that has changed. You must learn to accept that fact, and her service. That is part of your role. Ignore her presence otherwise."

"I'm not sure I can do that."

Sarek sighed. "I see I must teach you." He shrugged and eyed her, "Not entirely an unpleasant task." He glanced to the door, as if he heard some sound and then leaned down and kissed her.

It was a deep kiss and Amanda didn't even have time to draw breath. Her startled gasp drew her husband's breath in her lungs. He moved to the bench beside her, his hand went behind her head, holding her into the kiss, the other around her shoulders, keeping her from drawing away. She heard the click of the door and knew T'Lean had entered the room. If the woman paused at the sight of them, Amanda didn't have the presence of mind to tell, lost in her husband's demanding, insistent embrace. She heard the sound of the tray being set on a table, of tea things being prepared, and still Sarek didn't release her, and when she tried to draw back, his arms tightened fractionally, enough to warn her to go passive. It wasn't until T'Lean set a cup on the dressing table, inches from them, that Sarek finally let her go. Amanda stared up at him with wide, shocked eyes, while she tried to catch her breath.

"Thank you, T'Lean," Sarek's manner was entirely casual. Satisfied. "I cannot think why I did not hear you. I must have been otherwise distracted."

"It is of no consequence." T'Lean said, and offered him tea.

"So I have informed my wife." Sarek handed Amanda a cup, taking another for himself. She took it automatically, shocked at his behavior.

And Sarek still appeared both relaxed and …amused. He finished his tea, and turned to her. Frowning when he saw her holding the untouched cup. "Amanda. Drink your tea. T'Lean has yet to arrange your hair. Without pulling it," he added, glancing reprovingly at the attendant, "and then she must help you to dress. He took the cup and brought it up to her lips, as if she were a child. She took a sip and then drew back, still eyeing him as if he were a stranger.

"Very well," Sarek rose. "I must leave my wife in your expert care, T'Lean." The last had the edge of warning in it, and T'Lean bowed her head. "Amanda," he caressed her cheek with one hand, and then his index finger drew down between her brows, down the bridge of her nose, to flick lightly off its tip. A teasing reproof. Part of their shared history. And he half smiled. "Until later."

Amanda let out a relieved sigh as he disappeared through the door. She realized she was still trembling. "**Who **did I wake up with this morning?"

"My lady?"

Amanda looked up at T'Lean. If there was emotion in her, at least at the moment Amanda couldn't say for sure what it was. "Never mind. Let's see what we can do with this hair."

But in spite of Sarek's faith in T'Lean's expert abilities, the Vulcan woman was clearly frustrated by the task. She finally managed to get it all braided, but then had trouble getting it properly bound. By this point, Amanda was exasperated as well. She could have done up her hair in one tenth the time, and while it might not have been exactly to form, she'd defy anyone to tell the difference. She didn't know what was making T'Lean so clumsy, but she suspected the Vulcan woman could hardly bring herself to touch her. When Amanda's hair tumbled down for the third time, T'Lean muttered something Amanda's hearing couldn't quite catch, but sounded suspiciously like an oath. T'Lean began to fumble through the drawers, looking for something. Amanda closed her eyes, forcing herself to patience yet again, and opened them only to see a pair of scissors being raised with the end of one of the braided sections between them. She leapt up from the dressing table, snatching the end of her braid from between the shears. "Are you out of your mind? You can't cut my hair!"

"It is too long. Far too long to arrange properly for this style."

"I don't care. Pick another arrangement then."

"It is impossible to arrange at all as it is."

"Then leave it to me to arrange."

T'Lean's face twisted. "Thee intend to sacrifice tradition to thy vanity?"

"You think it is my vanity that makes me keep my hair this long? Go ahead and cut it then, and **you **face Sarek afterwards. Just make sure I'm off planet when he finds out."

T'Lean picked up the scissors and Amanda leaped back behind the bench, putting it between them. "I didn't mean that literally. You can't do it!"

"Do what?" Sarek walked in. "What is going on in here? Amanda," Sarek frowned at her. "Why is your hair still not arranged? Sit down and-"

"Let T'Lean cut it? That's what she wants to do." She was surprised at how panicked she was at something she herself had wanted.

Sarek turned to T'Lean, seeing for the first time the shears in the attendant's hand. He stepped forward and whatever was in his face, the Vulcan woman stepped back. Sarek merely took them from her hand. "I instructed you to not so much as pull one unnecessary strand and you plan to do this? Explain."

"It is too long. It cannot be properly styled."

"I am not interested in your excuses. See to it at once. And since I apparently failed to make myself clear from the first I will do so again. You are not to harm a hair on my wife's head. Nor are you to disregard her directives. She is your superior, your provincial prejudices aside, and you will treat her as such."

Amanda came out from behind the bench, feeling sorry for T'Lean now. "Sarek,"

"Sit **down**, Amanda."

She tensed at the sharp note in his voice, and as if recognizing it, he collected himself. He drew a breath, and deliberately replaced the scissors in a drawer.

"Amanda. Do you think you can get dressed without further difficulties?"

She glanced at the now chastened T'Lean. "Yes."

Sarek shook his head and drawing her down on the bench, leaned down and kissed her briefly. "Perhaps I should call Sascek back to protect you?" His voice was soft, meant for her alone, and wry. He'd clearly recovered his good mood, after his brief burst of temper. This was the Sarek she knew. She relaxed a trifle.

"She's **your** mother's attendant."

"Indeed. I am surprised you didn't allow your hair to be cut, given how you have long desired it." The amusement in his voice told him how much he was teasing her and how far from the truth that statement really was. He wasn't at all surprised. He knew perfectly well she wouldn't have allowed it, if she could help it. In spite of her annoyance with her hair.

"And face you afterwards? I know better, my husband."

"At least I have trained **you** well, even if T'Pau has not trained T'Lean likewise.

"Yes, you have," Amanda admitted freely. The part of her that ought to be outraged at Sarek's casually amused statement, and her even more open acceptance was now only a faint echo. It came to her how far she had come, if it could be called that. She had been afraid a moment ago. And she was grateful and even happy, reassured, relieved, that Sarek was so quickly restored to calm, even relaxed, amused after this incident.

Twenty years ago, she might have been wrestling hard still with the notion that he not only had a right to dictate the length of her hair, and that she had to accede to it, but that he could speak so casually of training her. Now she only had a faint echo of conscience that she could consider her acceptance an accomplishment, and not some horrible regression, or transgression. Perhaps, someday, she wouldn't even have the echo. As T'Lean moved behind her again, sans scissors, she thought that her own training was still ongoing.

Her hair finally got finished, and they moved onto the dress, brought up by one of the ceremonial guards, in the same sort of box, wrapped in the same clan wrappings, as another dress sent six months ago to her – a catalyst itself for what had happened. She had forgotten about that dress until she saw the box. She had absolutely no idea where it had disappeared to. But seeing the same sort of box brought the memory of that night back to her, of the night and what had followed. She was very quiet as T'Lean reverently opened this box.

This dress was quite ancient, several thousands of years at least, set with precious metals and gems, and as impossible to get into without assistance as an old fashioned anti-grav suit. In fact, T'Lean could have used an assistant. It fit perfectly, T'Pau had apparently had chosen one from the collection that fit her measurements. And it was …pretty, after a fashion, made of a heavily self embroidered satiny fabric, something like damask. Whatever the original color had been, perhaps white or cream, it had aged to a deep buttery gold color that shimmered in the light, and complimented her hair and skin rather well. But it was heavy, very heavy, and Amanda stood interminably in it while T'Lean fastened the many loops and closures. And then had her stand anew while she opened a box of jewelry and began to adorn hair, clothes and person all over again. Amanda finally closed her eyes and was more than half asleep, on her feet like a horse, when she heard her husband's voice, close by. She must have been really asleep for a moment when he entered the room.

"You look…quite beautiful, my wife. The gown suits you."

Amanda opened her eyes and looked at herself. The gown fit her to perfection, her hair was a blaze of precious gems, more blazing at her throat and wrists. The gown was fitted with tight skirt in front, and a fuller one in back, with somewhat of a train. She took a tentative, practice, step in it, relieved that the look of it face on belied how much freedom of movement the full skirt in the back actually allowed. While she couldn't run any marathons in it, she did think she'd be able to walk, sit and most importantly kneel in it. And do the rocking back on her heels trick to rise from that position gracefully that was almost _di rigueur_ in formal Vulcan society. "It's **awfully** heavy. Like it's made of lead." She glanced apologetically at her husband. "Not that it isn't a pretty dress."

"Indeed," Sarek was amused. "You are correct in one respect. It is woven in the mesh of a precious metal."

"Really?" Amanda told a fold of the gown between her fingertips. "It doesn't feel like metal. But it weighs a ton."

"In ancient times, such garments conferred a certain status."

Amanda smoothed a fold and looked up. "Ancient times. How old is it, exactly?"

T'Lean paused and then huffed below. Even a brief look of astonishment crossed Sarek's face, before it cleared. "Amanda, it was T'Ianye's."

Amanda drew a breath and her eyes flew back to the mirror, to see the gown anew. "No!"

"I assure you," Sarek seemed to regard her as doubting its pedigree, not as astonishment. "It has been authenticated in many clan archives, and records, both photographic and otherwise." Sarek regarded it critically. "It fits you very well. A suitable gown for the occasion for she wore it to Council often, as well as on her wedding."

"Her wedding dress? To Surak?"

Sarek raised brows in astonishment. "She was married to no other."

"I know. I didn't mean to imply-" Amanda shook her head, the gown clinging to her seeming twice as heavy. "I just find it hard to believe it could have survived all these years."

Sarek took that comment as logical. "The metal of which it is constructed does not oxidize or otherwise deteriorate on contact with air. And of course, it has been well cared for, sealed in the clan archives, except for state occasions. You wear her jewels as well. It is fitting, such artifacts should be used as well as retained, or they lose their intrinsic meaning. Now they will see regular use again."

"Regular?"

"Once chosen, such a gown is traditionally worn on major state occasions. Such as the opening of Council. Of course, T'Pau chose this one for you. If you find it not to your taste, you may choose another from the archives to wear in future."

"No," Amanda said faintly. "This one is fine. I wouldn't dream of countering your mother's choice." She eyed her husband and decided she wasn't even going to ask who had previously owned his elaborately embroidered tunic.

T'Lean has returned with shoes and was sliding her feet into them. Amanda was grateful that Vulcan custom demanded little more than low heeled sandals for casual wear or ballet like flats for other occasions. These were like the latter, new, but somehow they'd managed to match the fabric of the dress in the shoes. They were comfortable, and like the dress, fit her as if someone had taken a cast of her foot. She curled her toes in them, and glanced at herself one last time in the mirror, giving a little sigh.

"Shall we go?" Sarek asked.

Amanda looked at T'Lean, still kneeling on the floor, but Sarek said not a word to her for her hours of painstaking work, and Amanda gathered from T'Lean's manner that it was not done anyway. T'Lean was not expecting it. Indeed, she had become more silent and reserved as the hours had gone by, rather than more familiar, as a human would. If her initial resentment had not faded, it had been replaced with resignation. As if the more she donned Amanda in the garb appropriate to her station the more it had become real to her.

"Come, my wife."

Amanda let Sarek take her away.

_To be continued..._


	19. Chapter 19

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 19**

When they appeared in the open air, there was a huge contingent of ceremonial guards around the old Fortress, another aspect of this day she had come to expect. They were all dressed up as well. She didn't know why Sarek didn't call it a holiday; everyone seemed to have a holiday mood on this start of the official Vulcan year. They straightened up when Sarek appeared and she recognized Sascek in the group. In fact, he gave her what amounted to a cheerful look for a Vulcan armed to the teeth, seeming unabashed at their meeting, and unlike T'Lean holding no grudges. In fact, he inclined his head in a respectful nod, said, "My lady," and then tagged behind her like a hulking puppy.

"T'Pau has assigned Sascek to you for the ceremony as your…" Sarek hesitated over an appropriate word, knowing how she disliked the idea of being guarded.

"I get the picture."

"Good." Sarek clearly was beginning to shift his mind to other considerations. He spared her a final glance. "It is traditional on such a day as this, as you no doubt remember from watching prior ceremonies. And it is an honor, my wife. He will no doubt be assigned to head your regular detail."

She drew up at that. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I don't need a regular detail."

Sarek shrugged, not willing to fight that battle now. "If and when you should. You are a clan leader now. However, on such occasions as these, it is traditional."

"Oh, that word," she murmured, hopefully under her husband's keen hearing, and was grateful that Vulcans combined tradition with practicality and traveled to Council in air cars. T'Pau used a litter, but only for the last dozen yards or so. She let herself be handed into one, mindful of the hampering train of her dress. T'Ianye's dress. Sarek was right. This was going to be a long day.

She had watched Council openings before. Back with the rabble, of course, for then she had had no place in the council chambers. But she had watched when she first came to Vulcan, first to get an appreciation of her husband in his world, then to see her son presented, and sealed. And to watch when Spock attended the occasional council meeting, as heir. She had never felt really left out, because she'd never envisioned that she had a place in this most Vulcan of ceremonies and hierarchies.

And yet here she was. In the anteroom of the council chamber were perhaps 500 of the most powerful people on the planet, all dressed in archaic clan dress, wearing personal weapons as well as followed by attendants carrying the huge lirpas and archaic weapons of war. Everyone was busy finding their place, making last minute adjustments to their persons, to their retinues, the banner bearers making sure their colors were facing forward and hanging straight, the shiny, dangerously sharp weaponry taken reverently out of its coverings, gleaming in the lighting. Some of the guard went out into the council chamber proper, going around and lighting huge torches. When they'd finished, the regular lighting panels, concealed in the ceiling went out, and the huge room, lit by the dozens of torches, was almost as bright as if it were artificially lit. It was all rather like a play.

T'Pau swept in, moving to the head of the group, her guards in their livery flanking her, while others manhandled her ornate litter in. The matriarch looked around, glanced at her and nodded. The same cool, formal nod of acknowledgement she used to grant to Spock all those years. Amanda nodded back, but felt emotion sweep her, as she realized this wasn't just an elaborate ceremony, a play in which she'd finally been given a part. This was real. She blinked back a wash of tears and swallowed the lump that rose in her throat.

"Amanda? It's almost time."

She looked up at her husband. "Run through it for me," she said, _sotto voice_.

Sarek blinked himself, seemingly realizing she was perhaps unfamiliar with a ceremony so old to him he probably couldn't conceive of not knowing every nuance of it. "We have to do a …a formality, a thing -"

"I remember the basics, from watching a few times before."

"Just follow my lead," Sarek murmured, "there isn't much to it," and then the banner bearers straightened and began to move, and the bell-bearers shook their bells furiously. And to a panoply of what she would have called trumpets, though they weren't wind instruments in the thin air, but some kind of resonating string, the ceremony began.

The video cameras had winked on in the council chamber. The guards went in first, T'Pau's Palace guard, a near army of them, rather astounding in their number, outnumbering the clan leaders, heavily armed, both with personal weapons as well as weaponed for war, securing themselves at points around the room as grim and dangerous looking as if this were the true prelude to war it must have been when the Council was first formed before the first peace agreements were signed. The musicians and bell bearers followed.

And then T'Pau was carried in on her litter, her eyes glittering, her face set in what Amanda had long thought was coldness, almost cruelty. Sarek took her own hand, just briefly for a moment, giving hers a light squeeze, a signal it was nearly time to move. Then he let it go and they walked, proceeding down the main concourse, flanked by the guard, to the furious shaking of bells and sounding of instruments. Sarek glanced at her, giving a minute jerk of his chin as the approached the council table, a round circle worthy of King Arthur, and she broke to one side of it as Sarek went to the other, so that they both circled it, indicating acceptance of all the members who would be seated there, she ended up on T'Pau's right while Sarek stood at her left.

And then the procession of lesser clans came forward before them, giving their clan name, their own names and titles, whether leader, regent or heir, and renewing their pledge, on their honor, individually and for the sept of the clans they represented, to their allegiance to the principles of Surak, to the dominance of logic and peace, over violence and war, to the clan of Surak as the Guardian and head of these principles and this Council, and to the clan leaders who represented that. T'Pau, Sarek…and now her.

One by one they came, bearing their banners, the livery of their houses, in tandem with their terrible war weapons, said their piece, knelt respectfully before T'Pau, before the three of them, and exchanged the light brush of minds that indicated sincerity, laid their war weapons down in formal pledge, to be picked up by the guard, and went to stand behind their assigned seats. Then finally the last had approached and swore fealty, and the circle was full.

Sarek knelt to T'Pau and pledged to her, clan leader to matriarch, to honor and enforce the council's directives, and rule over the council according to peace and logic. Promising never to lead the clan of Surak to war.

Hearing him say the ancient words, Amanda felt some appreciation for Sarek's feelings about seeing Spock go into Starfleet. Sarek had vowed to keep his entire clan from warlike ways, and here his son went into a militaristic organization. Even with T'Pau's approval, it had to have been difficult for him.

Sarek finished his speech, and rising, gave her a meaningful glance. And she knelt to T'Pau in turn, hearing her own voice like a strangers' clearly speak the ancient words, and feeling the light brush of T'Pau's mind. And then she and Sarek took their own places at the table, to T'Pau's right and left.

T'Pau then rose, expressed her appreciation for the fealty thus given by all present, declared the clans of Vulcan had renewed their peace, honored the cessation of war, and agreed to the dominance of logic in the year's coming negotiations, and pronounced the Council formed and open, legally bound to rule over all the clans of Vulcan in lieu of war. And then turned it over to Sarek as Head of Council. Who gave a similar ritual speech, honoring the clan leadership for their fealty, and their dedication to the peace of logic. And then he set the date of the first working session and closed the council.

And that was it. No real work was done on this day, when everyone was in ancient dress and priceless relics and weapons, and you couldn't walk for tripping over guards and soldiers. This day was for resealing the ancient pledges alone.

Everyone relaxed after that. The recording cameras winked out. People rose from their seats, some removing their heavy personal weapons. There was a subdued murmur of conversation. Attendants moved to gather and wrap up their weapons of war for the next year's ceremony, and Amanda found herself facing T'Pau.

"Thee did very well, Daughter." T'Pau's eyes roved over her. "It is past time I see thee **properly** dressed. I had begun to believe I would never see it."

Amanda eyed her, wondering if it was too soon to tackle her about T'Lean.

"Thee will have others to meet." T'Pau flicked a brow.

Sarek was surrounded by clan leaders, and she turned, wondering what she should do now, to find a Vulcan come up to her side. Sofet. He was an ancient Vulcan; probably had a hundred years on Sarek, with gray, almost white hair, and a look that combined both fragility and iron strength. He was related to Sarek in some way she didn't quite remember. She knew of him, though she'd never met him. Outcast from clan politics all these years by T'Pau's refusal to accept her, she had never put herself forward in such things. And most Vulcans, following T'Pau's lead, didn't push the family relationship either. Apparently all that was to change too. For now Sofet came up to her, eyes alight with welcome.

"So you're the little girl who saved her husband's life." He looked her over closely enough that she felt taken aback by his look as well as his words. "I've been wanting to meet **you**."

Amanda flushed at the term he'd used to her. Not quite willing to accede to it. It had no direct English translation. Vulcans' long lifespan required terms for stages of development not equivalent to humans. There was a period from twenty to sixty in Vulcan development, a time one had full physical growth but not considered mature by Vulcan standards. A time after adolescence but before full adulthood. Not quite forty in Terran standard years, she fell in that category. Had all the years of her marriage. She'd discovered during this period such a person was expected, even tacitly required, not merely to follow traditional forms, but to take the council of their elders. Almost **any** elder. It wasn't until full adulthood that they were acknowledged mature enough to strike out on their own, sans that restrictive oversight. It was what Spock had been up against, and refused to knuckle under. Since her arrival on Vulcan, it had dogged her at times too.

Modern Vulcans, those young enough to have come to maturity in Sarek's generation or after, when humans had come to be known, recognized that humans **had** no fully equivalent stage. But she'd discovered older Vulcans were as set in their ways as older humans, and persisted in using the title with her. And expected the same results. T'Pau used it at times to her. Even Sarek did. Sometimes when he was in an indulgent mood, almost as a term of affection, but sometimes in a way that meant business. He understood that she was not a child, that as a human she was considered fully adult, and yet even with him, the cultural expectation still lingered. For Sarek, his occasional use of the term was usually an endearment. He could be demanding at times, but he seldom used the relationship term in a demand. But that was not how others used it.

With Sarek or others, she'd never liked it, realizing it carried the sting of being thought half-witted. When you lived as a human among Vulcans, you fought that prejudice constantly. At least she had, and had long wearied of it. She was not Vulcan, nor a child, and she didn't need anyone, least of all some provincial Vulcan stranger, telling her how to behave. Or reminding her, by his use of a title, that he expected that right.

She eyed the man before her. He didn't seem to be using that address in a demeaning way. For her, it was daunting enough to face someone who was living well into his third century. It didn't help to be called a child to boot. Though she admitted that there was some logic to it. Before his life experience, she really had no claim to be otherwise. She decided to ignore that.

"Most Vulcan women could be said to do that for their husbands, at least, at times," she referred obliquely to what they both knew, but would never speak of, "could they not?"

"Ah, but you did what most Vulcan women would **not**, didn't you? Except for T'Ianye. I note you wear her gown."

She didn't answer, eyeing him warily, color rising in her face.

"Discreet. I always suspected Sarek would have chosen well, no matter what others might say."

"Thank you. I think."

"How is your boy liking Starfleet?"

She glanced around to be sure Sarek was out of earshot, now really disbelieving this conversation. "How do you know that?" she whispered.

"I transferred his records."

She'd forgotten that Sofet was on the board of the VSA. She glanced at her mother-in-law, surprised that Spock's maneuvers to apply to Starfleet had gone so high up in the family hierarchy. Sofet had been aware of it, and he must have contacted T'Pau. And for Sarek to not have known, it meant neither of them had contacted Sarek. Unless. "Did Spock come to you?"

"Now, that would be breaking a confidence," Sofet said, raising a reproving brow.

Against her will, she half smiled.

"He didn't seek my council." Sofet remarked, softening his arch stance. "None of the men in your family, my lady, take council too well, when they have made a decision otherwise. I only accorded my…discretion when his actions inadvertently came across my…attention."

"Then I thank you for that discretion.

"Even though his actions - and mine –- could well have cost you your own freedom? As it turned out, temporarily." A sidelong glance. "But it might have been otherwise. I have had some qualms of conscience about that."

Once again, she was wary. "That wasn't his fault. Spock's or Sarek's. And I am sorry you were distressed, but there was no need."

"You are quite remarkable, aren't you?"

"I suspect I am fairly ordinary, as humans go," Amanda said.

"Indeed. I have little contact with humans. If what you say is true, perhaps I should seek one out for myself. Of course I am well past certain concerns," his eyes twinkled, referring to the fact that a Vulcan of his age was past _Pon Far_. "But a devoted personal companion is always a… treasure. There are, I understand, a few human girls at the Terran embassy, and the Enclave school. Perhaps I should make an offer to one or the other of them? When next we meet I may have one of my own. What – or whom - do you recommend?"

Amanda lowered her eyes, trying to force a smile from her lips at this unexpected teasing. "It may not be as easy as that."

"So you acknowledge you are not quite as unexceptional as you claim."

She looked up. He raised an eyebrow in tacit challenge.

"Perhaps," she admitted.

"As one of the Academy directors, I am not so unfamiliar with humans as you might have supposed. Sarek chose quite well."

"Let us talk of something else," Amanda said, uncomfortable with this personal discussion.

"Unusual, to find modesty in such a pretty little girl."

Amanda drew a breath, wincing internally as the descriptor robbed her of any pleasure in his words. "Sofet, one thing you might be unaware of in human women. We really **don't** care to be referred to as children."

"Indeed." He looked her over, head to toes. "My description seems apt, by all appearance. You are small by standards of stature. You are unmistakably female. And quite young."

"By Vulcan standards. By human ones, no, at least to the latter."

"Not being human, I tend to use those standards most familiar to me," he said dryly. "You will forgive me for that, my lady." He tilted his head in acknowledgment of her status, but his voice gave no ground.

She lowered her eyes, sighing inwardly at this obvious reproof, thinking perhaps it might have been better to let it go.

"By any standards, you've been in the world but little. You have been in **this **world even less."

She gave him a wary look, not sure what he was getting at. He could have meant Vulcan, or the newer world of clan politics. She chose to take it as the former. "I suppose that's true. At times I envy you your lifespan. And at other times, not."

"A long life not being much of a benefit if it consists of a continual trial."

She glanced at him. "All trials have their conclusion."

"Wise as well."

Amanda flushed, confused and not sure where all this was going.

His look softened. "As you find commendations distressing, my lady, and as I seem unable to stop pronouncing them, I will take my leave," he knelt to her, holding out his hands, and she was so startled she drew a pace back, flushing visibly.

"You don't need to do that."

He looked up at her. "It is traditional to a clan leader." He eyed her, and then said. "If I am the first to accord the honor, then I am doubly honored to do so." Seeing her still hesitate, he added, "T'Amanda, you would not have me thought disrespectful – before all the clan leadership? That would be a terrible disservice…to me."

Amanda swallowed and then she took his hands, careful to shield her thoughts.

But he looked up at her. "And for what is not merely traditional: I thank you for my nephew's life, T'Amanda." Still kneeling, he looked across at Sarek, and his face softened. "Rare as that syndrome is, it is even rarer that one survives and even recovers from it. To use a human phrase, our hearts were broken at the thought of losing our clan leader. And we can only honor the one who sacrificed much to bring him back to us."

"He brought himself back."

Sofet looked up at her. "No male in Surek's line has ever survived _vrie_ where the female challenged. Even those that survived the Challenge died swiftly as the fever escalated. It is rare, but not so rare that we are unaware of the usual course – only that we prefer not to acknowledge it. For all that have succumbed, only Surek survived, with T'Ianye's help. And now Sarek, with yours. Your husband struggled valiantly to overcome it, and such is a thing of legend. But he did not struggle alone. Do not think we fail to recognize the joint effort and sacrifice thus embodied. To see him truly well again is a source of great joy."

"To me as well."

"And to see you here, freed and well, is an equal source of joy. On this day, when we honor our decision to follow peace and logic, and the abandonment of violence, it is meet to honor **your** decision to forgo the violent traditions of our past. That you did not choose the Challenge. Our biology still holds us much in sway. Yet, rather than challenge, with much greater chances for your life and freedom, you countered that dread syndrome with peace. Rather than continue to hold you as chattel, Sarek freed you. And you and Sarek both survived, and recovered, and rule here anew. You are both quite an object lesson for us all."

"It was not one I – or he - planned to teach."

"Nevertheless, I am not the only one here today grateful for it. My lady." He bent his head and then rose lightly, age not preventing him from the rocking back on his heels trick that all Vulcans used to rise from this position. And she stared after him, almost disbelieving the conversation.

Except that she had no time to disbelieve it, for the subject was repeated, as one after another of the sept clan leaders came to her, some kneeling first, some after, but most of them subtly referring to her actions of the past year. And those that didn't dare to say it outright, hinted at it, with all the subtlety of Vulcans. She hadn't realized how common a knowledge it was, among the clan hierarchy at least. Nor had she realized how strongly they felt about her husband. They looked at Sarek, surrounded by retinues in turn, calm and relaxed, and then they looked at her, eyes wide with wonder. And then they knelt and expressed their gratitude. She could hardly believe it. All the months she'd lived, locked up, humbled, even shamed, thinking herself forgotten and somehow disgraced, and now scores of Vulcans, those most highly placed in clan leadership, seemed to find her not just worthy, but honorable. And honored her.

T'Pau had told her all this, before Sarek had released her. But she had not believed it.

And then T'Prill approached. She was dressed in a gown so shimmering and gorgeous she made Amanda feel like Cinderella when she was more Cinder than Ella. She was so weighted down with jewels she made Amanda feel almost subtle in her own heavy adornment. And her eyes were cold.

Of course, Amanda had never known T'Pring's mother to be anything but cold.

"T'Prill," Amanda said, inclining her head graciously.

"Amanda." T'Prill didn't use the correct title, a tacit breach of protocol, but one Amanda was not about to call her on. Nor did she kneel. T'Prill merely inclined her head in return, before raising her eyes to meet Amanda's. "How pleasant to see you at Council…at last." The latter a not so subtle barbed reference to the fact that until now, she had not the status to be there at all.

"I am honored," Amanda said, feeling anything but before T'Prill's obvious hostility, but determined not to be drawn.

"We have not seen much of you recently," T'Prill said. "Even …outside of Council. Outside of **anywhere**, but your home."

"I have been much occupied," Amanda answered, almost amused at this determined attack, a clear reference to her recent confinement.

"So I have heard. The line of Surak is a dangerous one, for women."

Amanda didn't reply.

"How fares my promised son?" She asked, speaking of Spock. "We expected him to be teaching, after his second mren-to was completed."

Amanda suppressed a sigh. She knew this had been coming. "He is attending another school, off world."

"On Terra."

"Yes."

"Starfleet."

Amanda raised her chin and met the cool black eyes. Perhaps Spock had told T'Pring, thinking his future wife had a right to know. Regardless, T'Prill knew. "Yes."

T'Prill's eyes glittered unpleasantly. "So while his Terran mother sits in our High Council and vows peace, even embodies it in her very person," her gaze swept Amanda, and Amanda felt stripped of her ceremonial gown, reduced to the unbound hair and house shift T'Prill was no doubt consigning her to, "the **heir** to our clan leaves Vulcan and espouses war."

"He is not espousing war. He is going to school."

"A school of war."

Amanda drew an impatient breath. "More one of exploration and discovery."

"Those could also be said to be violent, primitive acts."

"Then you accord the same to every researcher at the Academy."

"They do not do so armed with weapons."

Amanda grew weary of this conversation. Of her heavy dress, the jewels weighting her hair, the heat of the room only magnified by the many burning torches. She thought longingly of her Fortress home, the cool mountain air stealing through the long windows of her bedroom. Her voice grew terse. "Do not Vulcan boys learn the skills of the lirpa? The ahn-woon? Do they not prepare and master all the skills of combat, and test themselves on the Forge?"

"Logical. But these are ceremonies. Spock studies war in truth."

"I think it was truth when my child went on his Kahs Wan. Children still become injured, even die, on such trials."

"Rarely."

"Small consolation to the mother that loses a son." Amanda met T'Prill's eyes evenly. "Of course, being only daughtered, **thee** cannot fully share my concern."

T'Prill drew herself up, at that unwelcome truth, "And having no daughter, thee cannot share **my **concern." She looked across at Sarek. "As I said, the line of Surek is a dangerous one…especially for their women. Even for those males that do not espouse war."

"It's a little late, now, to have second thoughts. Our children are bonded."

"Then, these events of which I speak had not come to pass." T'Prill's eyes were still on Sarek, watchful, worried. "Spock is his father's son."

Amanda tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "And here I had always thought, all these years, T'Prill, that you were more concerned with the unalterable fact that he was also **mine**."

T'Prill returned her cold gaze to Amanda. "I have had that concern. I will not pretend it was not a logical concern. And now I find his mother is not only human, but chattel." Her gaze swept over Amanda, acknowledging Amanda's elaborate court dress. "Or was chattel." She met the blue eyes in tacit challenge. "Though it has been said, once chattel, chattel always. The experience…lingers."

"I didn't know you a student of ancient history."

"It is not so very ancient a history, now, is it?" T'Prill glanced again at Sarek. "The tendencies also… linger. In that line. This adds to my logical concerns."

"These recent events have nothing to do with Spock. The possibility, as I understand it, is extremely remote."

"Thee are his mother. I am my daughter's mother. What happened to the father could happen again." Amanda wondered if T'Prill wished that on her. "It could also happen to the son as well as the father. No mother wishes her daughter **chattel**." She said the word with the scathing scorn Amanda had always felt associated with it. "Or to be humbled by her daughter's chattel status."

Amanda feeling a cold chill sweeping over her, had nothing to say to that. The experience was too new. She couldn't deny T'Prill's concern. Or the tacit threat that as a mother she must feel. But she knew what T'Pring would do in such a case as she had faced. What T'Prill would recommend. The logical choice. What T'Pau had once recommended, even urged, her to choose. **Challenge**. Her dear son. On the ceremonial grounds. Facing some monster determined to kill him. She looked at Sarek, as if needing to see he was all right, whole and well, past all that. And then looked wordlessly back at the Vulcan woman, fear stealing through her body. The fear she had felt for Sarek, above any fear for herself, now for Spock. No, it couldn't happen. T'Pring would never- But she could. Oh, she **would**. Suddenly, in this place, dressed in ancient costumes, surrounded by ancient weapons and the remnants of a virtual army, it seemed only too possible. A portent of things to come. She felt suddenly faint. She drew some ragged breaths, half raising one hand, steeling herself against it, while the room reeled around her.

T'Prill continued forcefully, her own emotions over-riding her tongue and making her oblivious to Amanda's state. "I would rather see her-"

And then T'Pau was suddenly at their side.

_To be continued…_


	20. Chapter 20

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 20**

An attendant had followed T'Pau, handing around the glasses of water that were the traditional gesture of peace between once avowed enemies. At T'Pau's glance, he handed one to Amanda, and she sipped it gratefully, the cool water reviving her.

"Thee think me humbled, T'Prill?" T'Pau questioned.

"Matriarch!" the woman took a step back, shoulders hunching. She gave a swift look from T'Pau to Amanda, as if newly reminded of their connection. Amanda was no longer an unacknowledged wife, a mere consort, sans status, as she had had been all the years T'Prill had known her. Now she was T'Pau's daughter. Status aside, T'Pau alone was a powerful, invincible ally, and only the foolhardy would cross her. T'Pau had yet many years to rule, and a long, an unforgiving memory. "I beg pardon. I was not speaking of thee."

"It is as well thee recognize that truth." T'Pau said. "For far from being humbled, I consider myself honored by my Daughter's assumption of the ancient sacrifice. Particularly on a day such as today, when we honor our sacrifice of the ways of war, for the pursuit of peace." She looked around the huge room, awash in ancient splendor, tapestries and banners and weapons of war. Her voice was thoughtful, remote, for once not castigating. "Some would say we humble ourselves in giving up the Way of the Warrior. It is a difficult choice, in some ways against our very nature, our biology, our past warrior heritage. But we have agreed, from Surek's time, that this **is** the greater honor. And because we acknowledge that **none** of us are far from the ancient passions, we reinforce that belief with this yearly reminder of what we have renounced, and what we have sworn." Her gaze returned to T'Prill. "Would that thee raise **thy** daughter to honor our ways as well as T'Amanda."

"Matriarch," T'Prill knelt swiftly, bowed her head, as if willing to look anywhere but up at T'Pau, and hastily made herself scarce.

T'Pau gave her a disgusted glance. "I would not give a grain of sand, out of all of them filling Vulcan's Forge, for that one."

Amanda looked after her, thinking of Spock enmeshed in that family, trying to still her racing heart, calm herself down. Spock was years, and years, decades from _Pon Far_. She couldn't panic now. She took another sip of water. "I never liked T'Pring either."

T'Pau shrugged. "Politically, it was a suitable match. The girl is young. She may have qualities the mother lacks."

"I haven't seen evidence of that. She seems her mother's daughter."

T'Pau looked at her. "In truth, I confess I have not paid much attention to the child."

"Your grandson's future wife?" Amanda gave her a sidelong glance. "I'm surprised you haven't. It is an important consideration. Or didn't you learn that lesson from not paying enough attention to your son's choice…until it was too late?"

T'Pau looked at her, astounded. Amanda swallowed, but met the fierce gaze evenly.

After a moment, T'Pau sidestepped that dangerous discussion. "There is much to be said for the girl's father. He was a great logician. And a great philosopher."

T'Prill's husband had died some years ago. Amanda had known him but little, but Sarek and Spock had been friendly with him. "He's not marrying the father."

"If you say the child is wanting, I will accept your judgment. But as you say, it is too late."

"Really?" Amanda met T'Pau's eyes in appeal. "Oh, really?"

T'Pau seemed a little taken aback by the force of that appeal. "Has Spock indicated a lack of approval for his future bondmate?"

Amanda turned away. "Not in so many words."

"There is nothing I can do, unless he does."

"He won't. Couldn't you-"

T'Pau shook her head. "Even if I were to hint, it would have the strength of a command. Spock must make that decision on his own."

"He **won't** reject his father's choice for him. That much I do know."

"Perhaps the girl will mature."

"I hope she will." Amanda privately doubted it, but there was nothing she could do about it. At least not now. She looked around the room, which was clearing slowly. Seeing T'Pau attending her, a group of Vulcans who'd been eyeing her, apparently intending to wait on her, bowed distantly, reluctant to intrude, and moved to depart. It had been nice to experience her husband's culture, first hand, no longer the outcast. But the novelty had faded for Amanda. What good did it her present position do her – it didn't help her solve her family troubles. It couldn't help her protect her son. Amanda glanced at Sarek, still deep in people, and sighed a little.

"Thee are still weary." T'Pau said, sharp eyes missing nothing.

"I'm fine."

A flick of the black eyebrow, and T'Pau approached the group, glancing at Amanda to attend. The action had the expected result. Before the Matriarch, the group surrounding Sarek quickly broke up and departed. And the three of them stood together in the slowly emptying Council Chamber. It came to Amanda that she had never stood with her husband before T'Pau in all the years she had been on Vulcan. The three of them had never been together before in public. Never together at all, except for the day she'd become chattel – and Amanda preferred not to think of that. And today. How strange that they should meet now. Here. On such a day as this.

As if acknowledging that thought, another of those strange perceptions that reverberated across tied family bonds, T'Pau's eyes met Sarek's. "Thee chose well, my son."

Sarek gave the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug, undrawn and unimpressed. "So I have long said."

"She is, however, foolhardy, disobedient, and disrespectful."

Amanda drew a sharp breath, shocked at T'Pau's criticism, particularly when she was, for once, appreciating the rare novelty of family unity in this circle. At least such family as was present. It hadn't lasted five minutes.

Sarek appeared unmoved. "She would not have married me if she was not."

T'Pau conceded that with a raised brow. "No doubt. Nor would thee have chosen her if thee did not share the same traits. I suppose thee are well suited in that regard."

"Indeed."

"She is also still unwell," T'Pau said impatiently. "Take her home and see she is properly cared for. Lest I am forced to act further myself."

"I am standing here," Amanda said, nettled. "While you **both** speak of me as if I am not -"

"Come, my wife," Sarek said, and took her hand, uncaring before his mother. She realized suddenly, how tired she really was. The day had been a lot more stressful than she had realized. Without thinking, lulled by her hand in his, and her head fuzzy with weariness, she edged a step closer to him than propriety really countenanced. Sarek glanced down at her, a sharp glance with all the perception of a touch telepath behind it. And then he picked her up.

"Sarek!"

"Stop struggling," Sarek said, looking down at her, amused. "What **do** you want the neighbors to think?"

She could have slugged him, but there was still half an army around the room, bound to protect Sarek at all costs. So Amanda rolled her eyes and before the rest of the remaining Council members, buried her burning face in her husband's neck as he carried her to their aircar, far more embarrassed than he at this breach of propriety.

So that she did not see that every Council member knelt as Sarek walked past, in honor to them both.

And T'Pau, standing by her litter, watched and was well pleased.

_To be continued..._


	21. Chapter 21

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 21**

Sarek too had noted this was the first occasion of T'Pau's acceptance of his wife in his presence. He had listened to the words of those others who approached him with one part of his attention, but another part of him was back in memory, far back, to when he had first brought his wife to his planet

And when he and T'Pau had clashed in serious contention over her status. He had approached her again, in this same Council chamber. But she had been adamant.

**Stardate 2230.11 Vulcan**

"I will not sanction the marriage."

"It is a foregone conclusion. We are bonded. We are one. There is nothing else **but** to sanction the marriage. It exists in truth."

"She is human."

"I have noticed."

"You cannot be one with a human."

"That she happens to be human is immaterial."

"What of children? What of heirs? **They **are not immaterial."

Sarek hesitated for the first time. "Amanda wishes children. She wants them very much."

"Thee are not even of the same species!"

"There are medical advances. Hybridologists consider it possible. And I have promised Amanda we shall pursue it."

"Even if such a miracle would be possible, thee intend to present a Halfling Terran child to council as your heir?"

Sarek's eyes narrowed. "If he is worthy, what does it matter? He would still be my son. All that is required of my heir is that."

"No, Sarek. I will not accept it."

"Legally, once presented by me to Council, his right of inheritance cannot be denied."

"Sarek,Xtmprszqzntwlfb passions are known to be very strong. There is accepted precedent in our ancient line for wife and …others. Keep this human as such, if you must have her. If you but take a Vulcan wife, and have proper heirs, I will sanction your keeping of the human in all else. Have her bear whatever half Terran monsters she will."

"Do not speak so of my children, T'Pau."

"You **have** no children yet, Sarek, and are not likely to, with such a wife as she. I beg you, my son, to take a Vulcan woman to wife who can bear a proper heir. She can live in your suite at the palace. You may keep this human at the Fortress-"

"Her name is Amanda. And **she **is my wife."

"You have yet to go through a _Time_ with her. She is at best, consort only until then. For now, this bonding…if it is a bonding, can be one, with a human, could not be said to be irrevocable. Not until thee have been through a _Time_. Sarek, for your own safety, for your own life, I must insist you do as I bid. You must form another liaison. Quickly before it becomes too irrevocable. Then when the _Time _comes upon you, and this human rejects you, you will have a proper wife waiting to whom you can turn-"

"It has been irrevocable for some time. And I have faith that Amanda will not reject me."

"You cannot know that. No more than a human can know of our ancient needs."

"She has been instructed, and accepted her responsibilities."

"Words alone cannot convey the ancient instincts required."

"Then I will **train **her in the ancient instincts required."

"Sarek you know that is folly!"

"She is my wife, and I will keep her, and only her, as such. I want and will have no other."

"If you care so much for her life, Sarek, then do this **for** her."

"What do you mean?"

"You could kill her in the _Time_."

"I would not!"

"If she rejects you-"

"She will not."

"Sarek you do not know this. Vulcan passions are strong and unvarying. Human emotion is fickle; it is **not** constant. The two are not compatible. Even without the stress of _Pon Far_, human liaisons seldom last."

"Amanda is bonded to me."

"And if she rejects you in the time, that bonding - you –could well cause her death. You have yet to go through a _Time_. You do not truly know of the madness of that time. I counsel you, my son, that our ways are **not** for outworlders."

Sarek said nothing.

"If you will not do it for me, then do it for her. Consider this in her best interests. Take this precaution. Keep the human if you must. But take a Vulcan wife as well, for when the ancient drives come upon you."

"I do not want another wife," Sarek said stubbornly. "I know I will only want her. And I trust her."

"More than you trust me? This is my judgment, Sarek. You will obey me in this."

"Not when you have not the facts to make a proper judgment. You have refused to meet her. You do **not** know her."

"I will have no need to meet her, Sarek, to know a human cannot be a proper match for a Vulcan. She has not the biology, or the integrity, to meet you in the flames of _Pon Far_ and survive. Nor will I meet her. Ever.

"You refuse to honor my choice?"

"Honor her? I will not even acknowledge her. Even if you do not cause her death, this human will be the cause of my son's destruction. I will not countenance such a one in my family. I will not look upon her face. I will not suffer her presence." Her gaze darkened. "I should see her thrown off planet."

"Do that, and I will leave as well."

"Sarek. You cannot mean this."

"I do and will. I care nothing for Terra, but if you expel her from my world, then hers will become mine, as mine has become hers. She **is** mine and I will **keep** her - where I must. Where is your choice. But she is **mine**, T'Pau." Sarek shook his head, drawing a pace forward before halting by main force of will. "She is mine. Do not try to take her from me, even by denying her this world. I will have her. Where matters little to me. But have her, I will."

T'Pau drew herself up, eyes both wary and regretful. "I see thee have our ancient passions, my son. Be careful. It is acceptable to acknowledge them in the marriage bond. But in our line, it can be…dangerous."

"I am always …careful." Sarek eyed her. "And will continue to be so. Have no concerns on that regard."

"My concerns are more than you can conceive."

Sarek looked down. I am …one with her. As I have never been with another. Never chose to be with another. I am content."

"I am gratified that thee has found a willing consort. But, my son…even you must realize she can never be a wife."

"I do not agree."

"Then we are at an impasse."

"Mother. I ask that you reconsider. Accept her, if only on condition. She will prove her worth to you."

T'Pau shook her head.

Something died in Sarek's eyes. "She is not what you have assumed."

"I am sure she has some worth. You would not have chosen her otherwise. But that cannot make her worthy in this. She is human, Sarek. I do not – can never - trust, my only son and heir's future to the care of a human. When the _Time_ comes-"

"I will prepare her for the _Time_."

"_No one_ can prepare an outworlder for our _Time_. I cannot believe she will submit. She will reject you. I will lose my son."

Sarek shook his head. "She is not Vulcan. But she does …love."

"Love! It is no match for Vulcan biology. And humans are not constant in love, even toward their own."

"Hers will be. And I will prepare her. I will prepare her well. I will take no chances. Believe me on this." Sarek was …almost…begging his resolute mother.

But she shook her head. "You have already taken too many."

Sarek gave his mother one last chance. "Have you no faith in my judgment, mother? I ask – one last time - only that you trust it enough to meet her. Meet her but once. Make your own, true, assessment."

"I will not."

Sarek stiffened, his eyes stony. "Nor will I give her up. And I will not have another."

T'Pau closed her eyes. She knew her stubborn son well enough for that. "Then so be it. Keep her as consort then. Keep her in the Fortress. I will not have her in the Palace. If thee choose in future to take a Vulcan wife-"

"I will not."

'Thee are young, Sarek. Thee may think otherwise in time, when some of thy passion has been quenched. And when the _Time _comes upon thee, thee may not even find thyself drawn to her. The _Time_ may require a Vulcan female to quench its flames."

"It will not." Sarek met her eyes. "In this I am quite certain. I will want only her."

"I say only this might be. And if it comes to pass, thus, I will sanction thy proper marriage."

"I am married. Sanctioned or not, I consider it proper. She will serve me in the _Time,_ and she will serve me well, and bear your heir, T'Pau. And if you choose not to meet her, it will be your loss." They stared at each other, both inexorably opposed, both uncompromising in this. And then, Sarek drew back a pace, his face setting against the hurt within, and strode from the room.

T'Pau looked after him. "I have lost already, my son."

But he was not there to hear.

_To be continued…_


	22. Chapter 22

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 22**

The palace and the Fortress had been built millennia ago. And had many similarities. But now they had one major difference. T'Pau's palace was set in invariable Vulcan traditions. But the Fortress was already showing signs of the human mistress who had taken possession of it. Entering the house, Sarek didn't find her there but he guessed where she might be and walked back to the shaded, wild gardens. He heard the ripple of her laughter before he saw her. And an exasperated yelp. He looked down on an amusing scene. I-Chiya had obviously heard the aircar and was determined to greet his master in his usual place.

"Oh, no you don't. You can't come in." Amanda struggled to block the huge sehlat from entering the garden hall. "I just cleaned that floor after your last romp through it. And you're wet again! You're filthy. What have you been rolling in, you great, hairy, muddy, saber-toothed monstrosity? Where could you possibly find mud in all this sand? I-Chiya, whoa!" Amanda tried futilely to hold the animal back by the ruff on his great neck, but determined to reach Sarek the sehlat simply plowed on. "No! Please?" It was no contest, he bowled her over with the sheer force of his weight, seven times greater than hers. Amanda yelped, half in dismay, half in laughter, and went down.

I-Chiya sped into the hall, then, hearing her outcry and belatedly realizing what he'd done to his new mistress, turned and came back to Amanda, nudging her insistently, knocking her back down on the ground again even as she tried to rise, and nuzzling her face.

"Gah!" Amanda said. "Let go you monster! The only thing worse than sehlat kisses are wet, muddy ones," she choked and pushed him away, futilely as Sarek could have predicted, his wife no match for the large beast. "And what have you been eating? You smell like fish. Ugh! Rotten fish. Have you been in one of the pools? Oh!" She was pushed down again as I-Chiya, mistaking her thrusting arms for an enthusiastic embrace, responded in kind, lavishing more kisses on her.

"Are you in difficulties, my wife?"

"This horrible beast won't let me up," Amanda said, but she was laughing as she tried to fight off the sehlat's eager attentions.

"I-Chiya." The sehlat came instantly to heel, and sat obediently at Sarek's side.

Amanda sat up, finally, regarded them ruefully, now as wet and muddy as her husband's pet. "His master's voice, I assume." Her tone was the only dry thing about her.

"A sehlat requires not merely a verbal command, but a certain…dominance in manner…and mind… to elicit obedience."

Her eyes widened. "You mean they are telepaths too?"

"Empathic, for the most part. You will learn to control him in time. He is not-" Sarek gazed down affectionately at his pet, "as incorrigible as he appears."

"I hope so, or I'm going to spend a lot of time under his great, hulking paws." I-Chiya thumped his stubby, muddy tail as if in agreement.

Sarek took her hands and helped her up, smoothing her tumbled hair, one hand going to caress her cheek. "Your face is dirty."

"And whose fault is that? I'm muddy all over. For the past two days your petbeen tracking enough sand through here to fill the Forge. That I could deal with, but since this morning, he's been bringing in enough mud to fill the Grand Canyon. I can't imagine where he's finding it."

"The what?"

"The…oh, never mind. I guess you never saw that while we were on Earth. How could we have overlooked it, as many tourist sights as we trolled through?"

"Indeed, we saw more than enough of Terran wonders and marvels," Sarek said, his voice as dry as his wife's, "while you made up your mind to marry me."

"You will never let me live that down, will you? Well, if I'd known you had such a charming, well behaved pet…pet? I would have leapt at the chance, I assure you," Amanda teased. "He's a very **testament** to Vulcan control and discipline. How very **well** you've trained him, my husband."

Sarek regarded his muddy pet thoughtfully. "I suppose I have over-indulged I-Chiya. He has been a devoted companion since my childhood. He is used to having the run of the house. And he is not usually so…disreputable in habits. He is cleaner." Sarek qualified.

"Since your childhood?" Amanda did a double take, looking at the sehlat wide eyed, who looked back at her, as if equally fascinated by his new mistress. "Really. I didn't know they were so long lived."

"Long-lived," Sarek harrumphed. "Indeed."

She laughed. "That wasn't a comment on your age. But it's a little daunting that he's not just bigger than me, he's older. And he has does prior claim." Amanda sighed. "He can track whatever he wants, wherever he wants, I guess. As long as **you** don't mind it."

"I do… when it extends to tracking it over you."

"I'm not really complaining. He is awfully cute. In his elephantine way. Sort of like a fat teddy bear. And you're sweet to indulge him so."

Sarek was offended. "I don't indulge him with sweets. They would be ruinous to his health. As you have noted, he is quite fat enough."

"In this context, sweet means endearing."

"Endearing," Sarek repeated, skeptically regarding his grubby pet, considering that statement. The huge sehlat wriggled and thumped his stubby tail again in agreement again.

Amanda laughed again at the picture they presented, and the sehlat came over to her. She wrapped her arms around his massive neck, muddy as he was, hugging him and looking up fondly at her husband. "You are both of you endearing. I can just imagine what our children are going to be like, with such an indulgent father."

Sarek raised an astonished brow. "An heir is not a pet."

"Oh, give it up. Your cover is blown, my husband. You're just as indulgent to me."

He wondered how, in spite of their close bond and months of marriage, they still could hold such different views, unaware. He didn't consider he indulged his wife. He considered her **his** indulgence. And he thoroughly enjoyed her. He thought of his conversation with his mother this morning and regretted, profoundly regretted, that some of that had to end. He had been reluctant, delinquent, lax, in preparing her for her role that as wife to a Vulcan, she must assume. But as he looked at her, gauging his control, he thought, as he had been thinking for months, _not today. Not yet. There was still time. He still had time._

"Don't try to get into my good graces, you monster," Amanda was saying to the sehlat. I know how you behave the **minute **he walks out the door. I just wish -" She looked up at him, and her smile faded as she saw his pensive look. "Sarek? Are you all right?"

He looked at her, and reaching out, caressed her face with a gentle hand. "Quite well. We were speaking of indulgences. Perhaps you might indulge me."

"If I only weren't covered in mud," she said, but in spite of her teasing words, her eyes were searching his face. "Sarek. Something **is** wrong. What is it?"

"I …spoke to T'Pau again, this morning after Council."

Amanda just looked at him, already sensing from his manner the news was not good.

"She refuses to meet with you." Sarek watched react to this, her manner changing, her smile gone as if never been.

Amanda rose from the ground, ignoring the sehlat's disappointed whine, and turned away, taking a few restless steps. "Perhaps she'll relent. With a little more time-"

"I think not. She was quite definite. Quite…adamantly opposed."

She looked back at him." That doesn't sound very…logical. Why does she hate me so much?"

Sarek was non-plussed. "She does not hate you, my wife."

"She won't even see me. Meet with me. How can that be right?"

"It is not. But her motivation is not from hate."

"What then?"

"She believes you will not be constant."

Amanda drew a sharp breath. "How can she think that? She doesn't even know me."

"It is nothing particularly against you." Sarek hesitated. "Do not think that. She simply does not believe any human so capable."

"So I'm supposed to be appeased that she is prejudiced against all my species?" Amanda shook her head. "No, this is not your fault either. I apologize. And I guess I can't blame her for being protective of her son. But I am disappointed. And I'm sorry to be the source of such conflict."

"You are not the source."

"I'm still sorry." She hesitated. "Are you?"

"I am very sorry, my wife."

"I meant…are you sorry you married me?"

Sarek gave her an astonished look. "Never."

"Sarek, if you want to reconsider, I'll understand."

"Reconsider?" He turned to her, frowning. What exactly is there to reconsider?"

She looked at him as if he were dense. "Our marriage."

He felt a deep chill steal through him, almost if T'Pau's words had come to pass. "That is past all reconsideration. Amanda, I thought you understood. This is not one of your Terran relationships that can be dissolved with a few legal words. This is irrevocable."

She gave him a troubled look. "That being the case, I don't understand **why** you didn't get your family's approval first." She hesitated, "Maybe you thought she'd be as accepting as you?"

"I **need **no one's sanction of my chosen bondmate." Sarek did not bother to tell her that he had and she had before they'd married and she'd been just as opposed then. "Her opposition would not have made a difference to me."

"It might have made one to me."

He did almost a human double-take. "Are you saying you would not have agreed, had you known she was opposed?"

"Was?" She gave him a sharp, startled look.

He caught himself. "If you have known she might be so?"

She took this as a slip in tense, not as a sign he'd known and hadn't told her. "It's possible. I think it would have made more sense to…to wait to see if she could be reconciled."

Sarek tensed a little, throwing her a disapproving glance. "Amanda, every word you are saying convinces me you do not understand the commitment we have made."

"I **do**. And such an irrevocable commitment requires acceptance of such on all sides. That's why I **don't** understand why I'm just finding out now that your mother is opposed to our marriage. So opposed she won't even meet me."

"You did not bond to my mother."

"I married into your family, though."

"You married me." He stared at her, almost disbelievingly. "True, my mother's refusal to sanction our marriage now means you lack a certain status on Vulcan. If that is your concern-"

"Status? What is lacking here is love – and understanding – and acceptance. That's what I want from you, and for you, and for us **and** for our children. If we don't have that, what else matters?"

He drew a deep breath, reassured anew. "We will have that, Amanda."

She looked up at him, confused and troubled. "How can we, in the light of her intractability? Sarek, I do love you – enough that I don't want you at odds with your family. You can't tell me this means so little to you. I can **tell **that you're upset. A marriage like ours will be hard enough even with everyone's support." She turned away again. "And children should have a family. A full and loving one. I **want** that for my children, even if you don't understand. This matters to me. So far, we haven't really done anything that can't be undone. But that won't be true if – when, we have children. Maybe now is the time we should recon -"

"Never." He caught her up before she could complete the sentence, turned her face up to his, one strong hand holding her delicate jaw, the other holding her in the curve of his arm, his fingers tight on hers. "Never, Amanda. You must never think that. You are mine, my wife. You will always be mine."

She stilled under his possessive embrace, eyes wide. She'd been told, warned, by the Vulcan healers who'd instructed her before her marriage that in ancient times Vulcans owned their wives and even modern Vulcans could be unduly possessive. But Sarek had never been so …blunt, about how he regarded her. Except for a few momentary physical lapses where he forgot his own strength and reacted precipitously to perceived aggression on her part, like when she'd nipped him during a kiss, a very few innocent slips, he had never said such a thing, never reacted so. He had never even slightly hurt her, in spite of occasionally startling her. But she had never seen him like this. She could not quite believe was she was seeing now. But there was no mistaking him. Or the **almost** painful strength of the grip she found herself in. In itself that told her how his mother's attitude had affected him. Every modern sensibility told her to run, not walk, from the alien across from her who held her with daunting strength and spoke of her, spoke to her, as if she were some sort of possession.

But this was also – still - Sarek. The husband she'd come to dearly love. Who was, except for those few minor slips, had always been gentle, was invariably kind, and so indulgent to her she had to forestall his impulses lest he completely spoil her – as badly as he'd spoiled the rambunctious pet at their feet. She couldn't reconcile the Sarek before her with that Sarek. And then she thought of the healers. In addition to their warnings, they'd also counseled her how to behave in such circumstances. She'd been wondering, even skeptical, that warnings about violently possessive Vulcan males had even the remotest relation to the controlled cultured diplomat who sought to marry her. Or the kind and gentle husband who had married her.

And now she saw that they did.

She lowered her eyes, feeling a sense of unreality wash over her. She'd seen Sarek respond precipitously to misperceived aggression on her part. But that was just reflex. A physical reflex. He always caught himself in moments, seconds, as quickly as he'd initially responded, and he was always embarrassed and apologetic. It wasn't him. It wasn't something he did without conscious intent.

But this was not reflex. Or at least it was of a different kind. His hands were almost bruising tight on her, his face was set, eyes narrowed, but he was not 'catching' himself. He was staring at her demandingly, in full possession of his faculties, while telling her he thought of her as a possession and expecting her to acquiesce to that.

She felt confused and unsure, and looked back up at Sarek, hoping to see her Sarek – the man who had courted her, the man she'd married, not this alien stranger in his body. But Sarek tightened his grip on her, as if impatient with her delay, and her head went back and she winced. Not daunted, but not yielding either. "You're hurting me."

He loosened his hands, fractionally, but didn't let her go. "You have not answered me. You do understand that bonding to me was irrevocable. That you are mine."

She knew what the healers had told her. She'd tried to believe it, to will herself to believe that her husband was that Vulcan as well as the one she felt she knew. Now she was seeing something of that part of him. "I understand. I **do **understand." She said it in Vulcan, in emphatic mode, put all the force of conviction that she could into it.

He let her go. And he relaxed.

She couldn't have been more shocked at that than if he had told her he loved her – something he'd always claimed he would never be able to feel. She'd never –consciously believed – that what the healers told her had really applied to Sarek. She'd tried, intellectually to accept it. But it just hadn't been him. And here, before her, not only had that mythic Vulcan appeared, not only had he behaved exactly as those possessive Vulcans the healers had warned her about, but the acquiescence she'd been warned to give had produced the result the healers had predicted.

He relaxed. He became Sarek again.

She swallowed hard and eyed him anew.

He relinquished his near bruising grip, his face softening, and then raised a gentle hand to caress her cheek. "Amanda, you must not let T'Pau's behavior distress you in this way."

She said nothing, wondering if he realized how much T'Pau's attitude had affected **him**. That something his mother had said had really upset him, to the core of his Vulcan sensibilities. But she didn't feel she could call him on it.

Meanwhile, Sarek was continuing, "I am more than satisfied with my choice of wife. And I will not have you sorry as well. My mother is stubborn, and used to having her way. But her approval in this, though desired, is not essential to my own contentment. You are." He looked at her. "Do not tell me her approval is essential to yours. You do not even know her."

She drew a shaky breath and eyed him anew. "Not essential. But I would have …liked it. I would have liked it very much. I would have liked to know her."

"As would I. But as we will not have it, we must be satisfied to be the source of our own contentment."

That sounded like the husband she knew. She half smiled at it, but not happily. Sarek took her arm and led her into the house. "I think you need to change, my wife."

"I don't think I can change **that** much Sarek. I'll always be human."

"I meant your muddy clothes."

"What you really want to change is the subject. But I can't just drop it. Not yet. I wish…I wish there was something I could do." She looked up at him, her blue eyes anxious. "Is there? Anything I could do, or change or promise, that would make her …reconsider? I'm willing to do – to try anything."

"Amanda. You do not need to do this."

"I have to do something. Maybe, if she won't speak to me, I could …could write her a letter?"

"What would you tell her?" he asked curiously.

She looked down. "That I can be constant. Will be. That she doesn't need to worry about you in that regard. That I'll do anything she likes to prove that to her."

Sarek looked down at her fondly. "As I understand the term, you are rather sweet yourself."

"Oh, Sarek, don't make light of this. I don't want this rift to remain. If I can do anything to change her opinion of me, I will."

"You are perfect to me as you are." He leaned down and kissed her. "Apart from the mud."

She looked away, as if recognizing his evasion meant there was nothing. For a moment, she just stood there, head bowed. Then she drew a deep breath, and her voice, when it came next, was light, almost amused. "I-Chiya is adorable. Though he's going to need a bath before he comes in the house again. He's as big as a house itself and dripping with mud."

"Sehlats are not indigenous to the desert; they are native to the high mountains. So I'Chiya is naturally attracted to cooler, wetter, microclimates."

"Yes, but where did he find mud in all the sand out there?"

"I suspect he was visiting the rose garden."

"The rose garden?" She stopped, astonished at this. "Sarek we are about a million light-years from any possible rose garden."

"I will ignore the imprecision of that statement and merely inform you it is incorrect. Have I not told you, my wife? I am having a rose garden built for you."

She looked up at him in astonishment. "For me?"

"You are the only human wife I have." He caught what he just said and remembering T'Pau's demands, corrected himself. "The only wife I have."

Amanda didn't seem to notice his slip, her eyes still wide. "Really?"

He relented in his teasing. "I am having it built for me as well, my wife. I must have some source for roses," he looked down at her fondly, "when circumstances require that I fill your rooms with them."

She smiled at that. "You know that I don't care for cut flowers."

"Then we must take care never to disagree, Amanda, if you wish to keep your roses on their stems."

She looked up at him, and he took the opportunity to kiss her. She finally drew back. "Have I told you that I love you?"

"Not in the last 4.2 hours. But I **have** been away for 4.1 of them."

"I **do** love you."

"It is a foolish human emotion," Sarek said. "But somehow I find it appropriate from my very human wife."

"You are shameless. I even love that awful, dirty, sehlat of yours."

He looked at her in amusement. "I hope not in the same manner, Amanda."

She gave him a look of exasperation. "No. In **quite** a different manner."

He closed the door to their private suite. "Indeed. Perhaps you might refresh my memory regarding the manner in which you love me."

"I'm covered in mud." She brushed at his tunic. "Oh, dear. You shouldn't have kissed me. Now, so are you."

"Excellent. We'll both," Sarek took her hands in his. "Take a shower."

"**You** are very wicked, my husband."

"Indeed. Perhaps I-Chiya will care to visit the rose garden regularly."

"A rose garden," Amanda said, still wondering, as Sarek drew her hair aside and drew her shift from her shoulders. "I can't believe it."

"You can," Sarek murmured. "Never doubt me, Amanda."

She looked up at him.

"Never." He drew her to him, and mud aside, they ended up taking that shower a little later.

Abandoned by his master and mistress, shut out of the house, I-Chiya headed back to the cool mud of the rose beds. And beneath the roses just reaching out with their roots to anchor in the alien soil, beneath thorny stems and embryonic buds, the sehlat wallowed and woofed in joy.

Across the desert, T'Pau stood in her Palace, her thoughts on her son. Almost…regretted her decision. But then she reconsidered anew. Thought of fickle human emotions, of the human abandoning her son to the flames of _Pon Far_. And in spite of the heat shimmering off the sands felt bathed in chills. No. Never would she take that human to daughter. Never.

In the master bedroom of the ancient Fortress, two sets of muddy clothes were piled by the wide bed. Sarek made love to his wife, in what he had ceased to regard as human-style, and had come to regard as their style. She had frightened him, a moment ago, in speaking of dissolving their marriage, but he knew, was sure, that was merely a result of her concern, her love, for him. Part of that ridiculous sense of self sacrifice in love that he had read about. He would teach her otherwise, in time. Teach her a true Vulcan devotion. She was his, would remain his. And yet, even as he kissed and caressed her, at the back of his mind was his mother's accusations and the painful realization he had to follow through on his promise. To train, to seriously train, Amanda in his ways. Vulcan style. To condition her to the worst of his savage past, so that she would never fear and falter in the Time. But even that he banished for the moment, to an unwelcome and yet to be dealt with future.

While Amanda closed her eyes and clutched her husband to her. He had frightened her a little today as well. And tomorrow she would bear some dark marks on her arms, the first as a result of her husband's untempered grasp. But though he'd shown the first instance of the dark side of Vulcan passion she'd been warned about, he was the only source of constancy she had in a strange, new and now at least partly unwelcoming world. He was all she had. And she loved him dearly. And so she held him close. And kissed him back. And thought of roses.

_To be continued…_


	23. Chapter 23

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 23**

**Stardate 2250.4 Vulcan**

Outside of Council Keep, night had fully advanced. The stars were bright and clear, Amanda had not realized how tired the Council ceremony and the preparations for it had made her. So that as Sarek carried her to their aircar, she didn't even remember the last time he had carried her so, had been to a life as a chattel in her home.

Arriving back home, Sarek reached to pick her up again.

"I can walk."

"I think you will not," Sarek said, and she subsided, too tired to argue, more than content for even a brief respite from the gravity – and her weighty dress - that seemed so much heavier when she was tired. He picked her up, and she put her arms around his neck, her head on his shoulder.

"It was really a beautiful ceremony," she said, as he walked through the garden court, the exterior lights winking on at his approach.

"I will look forward to seeing if you share that opinion after many years of attendance," Sarek said, looking down at her with some amusement "This morning you said it was the 'same every year.' For the most part, that is only too true."

"Well, that's part of the charm of tradition." She unwrapped her arms from around her husband's neck, nudging him to let her down as they neared the kitchen. "I don't know about you, but I'm **starving**. You must be too. Let me change first out of this priceless heirloom. And then, what would you like for-" She gasped and nearly leaped right up out of her husband's arms as T'Lean appeared around the corner.

"Good evening, T'Lean," Sarek said, arms tightening around her to keep her from falling. "I trust our evening meal is prepared?"

"I have seen to it. It is ready in the main dining hall." T'Lean eyed Amanda, still held in her husband's arms. "Is my lady ill? Or is she yet a chattel again and must be borne struggling to your bed?"

Sarek gave T'Lean a dark look. "My wife is fatigued."

"She is not," Amanda said, shocked by T'Lean's rude comment, though in truth, she'd been so startled she must have looked like she was struggling. She'd almost thought one of those long rumored Vulcan ghosts had appeared, perhaps in protest of a human taking T'Ianye's place – and dress – in the very Vulcan High Council. But her relief loosened her own tongue. "I can walk on my own. And T'Lean, chattel or wife makes no difference. I don't need to be carried to my husband's bed. I am perfectly willing to walk – no, to **run**—there. In fact, very little gives me as much pleasure." She smiled at T'Lean. "I am sure you feel the same about your husband."

T'Lean drew herself up, a green flush rising in her face.

"Amanda," Sarek attempted to forestall her, but Amanda hadn't yet had done.

"And my husband and I don't care to eat in the main dining hall. It's ridiculous for two people at that huge table. We prefer to eat in the kitchen."

"That is unsuitable. The kitchen staff is presently in the kitchen."

"**I am **the kitchen staff. It's **my** kitchen." Amanda said possessively. "And **my**-"

"Thank you, T'Lean," Sarek said, and the women left, her back set in chill reproof. "Amanda." Sarek looked down at her. "You are quite fatigued. Tomorrow is soon enough for this."

"Oh, all right," she said crossly. "It's true. All I really want right now is to eat something, take a shower and go to bed. Put me down."

Sarek set her on her feet.

"I don't see," she said, looking up at him, "what the good it is of having five hundred clan leaders kneel to you in the afternoon, when one snotty bitch can tell you what to do at night." She turned and led the way to the dining hall, regal in her shimmering dress, the jewels winking in her gleaming hair. "I want her out of my house, Sarek. **Tomorrow**."

"Indeed," Sarek said, amused again.

"Indeed is right. Have you ever heard the phrase, 'it's either her or me?'" Amanda gathered her train out of her way and sat down at one end of the huge baronial table, lit only by tapers. A forest of tapers. She peered around them, to see him through the gloom, puzzled and irritated. "What **is **all this nonsense, anyway? Are we having a power failure or something? Can't she find the lighting controls?"

"As to the former, that is no contest, my wife." Sarek looked at his wife through the dimness, where she sat at the other end of the long table, shook his head in agreement, and picking up his place setting, walked down the long table to sit next to her. "And for the latter, in many Vulcan clans, it is traditional to honor the Council day by following much of the practices of Surak's time. "Dress, meals, and so on."

"You never told me that." Amanda said, suddenly chastened, realizing she'd been delinquent in a tradition.

"Carried to excess I think it foolish. The ceremony and dress are one thing, but after spending the day in such, I see no need to spend the evening as well in a smoky fug."

"Yes, well, tomorrow," Amanda stared meaningfully at her husband, "I want my **kitchen **back, I want my **bed** back, and I want my **life** back. Sans retainers and attendants popping in on me. On us."

"That is tomorrow. For tonight, just eat."

Amanda sighed and subsided. And drew an annoyed breath as another Vulcan stepped out of the shadows to serve them. She raised her eyes unhappily to Sarek, but he was more interested in making a meal. Having seen them both served, Sarek turned to the waiter. "Thank you, T'Jar. You may leave us now."

The girl left and both of them forgo argument to eat. It was, as Sarek had intimated, a traditional meal, a traditional dish. Amanda made it, occasionally, but it was tedious to prepare, and she seldom thought it worth the trouble. Or her results worth the effort. After a few moments, Amanda raised her head, looking down at her meal in reluctant approbation. "You know, this is really very good."

"Indeed."

"It's better than mine."

Sarek glanced at her, a bit warily. "Perhaps."

"**Much** better than mine."

"T'Rueth has been preparing it more than a century longer than you, my wife. If as I suspect, that is who prepared it."

Amanda met her husband's eyes in disbelief. "Your mother's chef."

'Yes."

Amanda sighed. "Sarek, this has got to **stop**. Or we might as well move into your mother's palace. She's sending her servants, her attendants, even her palace guard over here. And now her **cook**."

"She does cook rather well," Sarek said, wickedly, and took another helping.

Amanda half smiled, and took another bite. "She's wonderful. I am ashamed of myself."

"It is her life's work. You have other …fish to fry." Sarek offered her the colloquialism with a half smile of his own at the incongruity of it, while she laughed at such an expression from him.

"Not in **this** kitchen, I don't. Fish to fry, indeed!"

"**I **have no complaints about your cooking, my wife."

"Once again disproving the myth Vulcans can't lie. Betty Crocker I am not – an alleged cook long popular in advertisements for human preprepared foods," she added for his benefit. "I'm amazed you don't go visit your mother once in awhile just for a good, home cooked meal."

Sarek got up from his seat, pushed aside a taper, and his plate, and sitting on the edge of the table leaned down and kissed her thoroughly. "That is something I will not find at my mother's house."

Amanda pushed her own plate aside, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him back. "I've missed you so much, my husband."

Lost in each other, neither of them said anything, while the tapers burned a little lower. And then a noise behind them brought Amanda out of her husband's arms with a strangled yelp.

T'Lean stood just inside the doorway.

"I have come to clear."

Amanda caught her breath and her temper before she said some very improper words. "As you can see, T'Lean, we are not finished. Further, you will no longer enter a room without knocking first. Nor will you come before you are summoned. You can go back to the kitchen. We will **tell** you when you may clear."

The Vulcan woman drew herself up.

"And T'Lean,"

"Lady?"

"You can tell the cook my husband and I are very pleased with her efforts."

"Yes, my Lady."

Amanda waited until the door closed behind her, before she met her husband's eyes, her face still flaming, "This is past embarrassing. Why don't we just sell tickets?"

"I told you before that it does not matter." He raised a brow in wicked amusement. "Though this morning, I considered you might never learn to deal with attendants. I stand corrected."

"Get me mad enough and I can deal with a raging lematya," Amanda threatened.

"I hope not."

Amanda looked down at her plate. "It was very good. And now it's cold."

"We can have it reheated." Sarek reached down and ran a finger over one blond brow, down the curve of her ear, across her cheekbone.

Amanda's face flamed. "Oh, the hell with dinner. She looked up at him. "Unless you want to. I'd rather go to bed."

Sarek drew his wife to her feet, and as they left the room, their dinner abandoned, Sarek spoke to T'Lean, glowering outside. "You may now clear, T'Lean."

And Amanda said something in her husband's ear, and he picked her up in his arms.

"I would far rather be chattel to my husband, T'Lean," Amanda said, over her husband's broad shoulder, "than wife to any other. In fact," she tossed her head defiantly, sending her carefully arranged hair down in rippling curling waves, "I would **insist** on it."

"Amanda," Sarek chided, scandalized. "Really."

"Yes, **really**!"

"That is not what I meant."

"It's what **I **meant," their voices faded as Sarek climbed the long staircase. And then came down the ripple of Amanda's laughter. And then silence.

And T'Lean heard the outer door close to the master suite. She stood for a moment, then stepped into the main dining hall, looking at the settings that had been moved next to each other, the pushed aside, half eaten meals, and thought of what she had walked in on, and what she had just witnessed. And what would go on in the master suite upstairs.

And she thought too, of what had happened today. Of T'Pau, standing side by side with _that human_, acknowledging her as daughter. Of Amanda, standing before all Council, all the planet, all of Vulcan, planet and colonies and all, as Sarek's wife, accepted once and for all in the dynastic line. A human, who professed a preference for the life of a chattel, who was worthy of no more, behaving like an animal in perpetual heat, and who tempted her husband, the leader of the clan of Surak into the same ways. While she, T'Lean, waited in attendance on them both. T'Lean wasn't sure who had the greater shame in all of this. But she resented all of it.

And one of her hands came down and knocked Amanda's setting off the table, watching it slide into Sarek's, both plates crashing and falling, along with the guttering tapers, shattering on the stone floor.

And T'Jar ran in, shocked to see the mess.

"Clean it up," T'Lean ordered, and went off to her solitary bed in the servant's wing.

_To be continued…_


	24. Chapter 24

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 24**

"Amanda? Amanda."

She blinked and turned over, and looked up at her husband, fully dressed and looking as if he were ready to walk out the door.

"What time is-" she threw a glance at the clock on her bedside table and leapt out of bed. "Why did you let me sleep so late?"

"You needed the rest."

"You and your mother," Amanda threw over her shoulder as she flew to the bath for a quick shower. "It's a conspiracy."

"Amanda."

She paused in her pell mell rush, and looked at him.

"There is something we need to discuss, before you leave for the Academy." He was so reluctant, her eyes widened and she drew herself up.

"Is something wrong? Did…did I do something wrong?"

For a beat his eyes met hers, truly puzzled, then he blinked. "Of course you didn't my wife. This has nothing to do with you."

"Then what is it?"

Sarek made as if to steel himself, and crossing to her took her hand. "Sit down, my wife." He drew her to sit down at her dressing table.

He was so clearly reluctant, she knew it must be something bad. "Oh, my god," she covered his hand on hers with her other hand, looking up in dread as he sat down beside her. "What is it? It is …it isn't Spock, is it?" She blurted out the forbidden name without a flicker of thought that it was against their agreement.

And Sarek blinked again, and shook his head, equally unmoved by it, clearly so distracted by whatever he had to communicate that he didn't even care. "No." He looked down at her, at their hands together, and enough of his reluctance communicated across the bond that she felt her own hands tighten on his. "Sarek, please."

"Amanda, I am …afraid…afraid we cannot let Sascek go. At least, not for the moment."

Her relief, her disbelief was so profound she couldn't speak for a moment. Then she let his hands go. "Sascek? Is **that **what this is about? And what do you mean?"

Sarek sighed, his shoulders rising and falling. For a moment he studied her, as if debating her readiness to hear this, then he took her hand in his again, and said, "Come with me."

He took her into her study, punched up something on her terminal, and then swiveled the screen around to show her. "Look at that."

It was the front entrance of the academy, her office and classroom building at the Academy, yards deep with humans, Vulcans, Rigelians, Tellurites, Andorians, and others. Only they weren't students. They wore the emblazons of dozens of different Federation news services, and as well cameras and uplinks to their various news services. Amanda stared at it in disbelief. "What are they doing there?"

Sarek didn't answer, raising an eyebrow, letting the obvious speak for itself.

She turned to him in horror, realizing they were after her. Again. "How did they all get here?"

Sarek shook his head, half amused in spite of himself. "They are the usual "on planet" news service representatives." He hesitated, grave again. "But after yesterday's events, I'm afraid more are coming."

"Yesterday's-"

"They covered the Council opening, naturally, as a matter of course. But they discovered, somewhat late, what was **not** a matter of course. And now apparently intend to cover your appointment to that body. The Council's office has already given them a statement, but they wish a more …personal …account. I suppose…" he hesitated. "I suppose you will have to think of some sort of statement to give them."

Amanda winced at that, "I am so out of practice at it."

"Nonsense."

"I **feel **out of practice."

He said nothing, and then realizing she was making him feel bad, she forced a smile. "All right. I'll put something together.

"Federation security will also be containing the crowd."

"Not just the Guard?"

"The reporters are mostly outworlders. They insisted. And…given that I am also somewhat…out of practice at this, on Vulcan, I have acceded to their request. It seems prudent."

She nodded.

"You understand why it is necessary to keep Sascek with you. At least until this subsides."

"Yes, of course. It's fine, Sarek." She looked at the chrono on her computer. "I really have to get going."

"Shall I have T'Lean bring your breakfast up here?"

"No," she said absently, then her eyes widened, "Are you kidding?"

"Amanda, do **not** skip breakfast."

"Would you just please go? You are making me later."

Sarek shook his head. "Do not look so panicked. You will have plenty of time to prepare before your first class."

"For a Vulcan male yes. I'm a human female. It takes longer for us to get ready."

"Don't forget to eat breakfast. I will tell T'Rueth you will have it in the kitchen."

"You will tell her nothing of the sort. **Goodbye**, darling. Just remember,"

"Yes?"

She shook her head. "I'll get you for this later. You've left me no time now."

He half smiled in return, relieved. "I shall look forward to it."

Amanda took another look at the clock, moaned and flew back into the bathroom.

xxx

When she came out, someone had laid out clothes for her. She put them on, not having time to wonder about hidden Vulcan elves. T'Rueth did have breakfast ready for her, and stood over her while she ate…at least a quarter of it anyway. T'Jar handed her her briefcase. Sascek brought - not her flyer to the door, but one of the Palace Guard, and flanked by another two, dropped her at her office. Both security services had set up a cordon of sorts, but even so the press lunged against it, recorder lights flashing. She held then off with a promise of a statement and full press conference later, after classes, and made it to work with time not only to spare but to get a cup of tea, look over her mail, flooded with incongruous congratulations from people she'd never heard of. And worry, further, over what to do about Vulcan elves that do their job too well. It's awfully hard to fire someone in those circumstances. And this time, not only did she seem to need them, at least for a while, but Sarek really did intend to leave the final decision to her.

"At least I didn't have to see T'Lean," she said. And then forgot about all of that as she went to teach her first class.

xxx

Sascek appeared after her last office hours and came to escort her to the flyer. It was hard to stay angry with him; he was such a cheerful sort. Not to mention huge. She'd already decided to leave Sarek to redefine **his **duties if and when it came to that. She'd spent the day running from class to class and in between classes thinking what she was going to say to the press.

A phalanx of the palace guard was flanking the doors to the building, checking those entering. So she could see why she'd had such a quiet day. They braced as she appeared, and beside her, Sascek did as well.

"I take it they're still out there?" She asked.

"Yes, my lady."

She nodded. "Okay. Let's get this show on the road."

They might or might not have been familiar with Terran colloquialisms, but they opened the doors, and she walked out into ruby light and a roar from the encamped press, three times the size of what had been there this morning, all of whom rushed from their temporary enclosures, where they'd been seeking solace from the heat, and aimed their vid pickups at her, the humans waving hands to entice her to call on them.

She drew a deep breath. "Okay, those who need the notes for today's lecture, raise your hand."

Hands dropped and there was laughter from some of the human members of the press, and dumb incomprehension from others.

"I …apologize to those of you who spent the day in the heat. I didn't expect this sort of response." She smiled. "You've surprised me."

"What do you think about a human serving on the Vulcan High Council?"

She lowered her gaze, still overwhelmed by that herself. "I'm very honored that T'Pau has so recognized me. It is a tribute to the Vulcan practice of diversity."

"Shouldn't you have been accepted when you first were married?"

She smiled at that, undrawn. "I look at it this way; it's given me time to master High Vulcan."

There was another rumble of laughter, for while Vulcanur was difficult enough for humans to master, very few humans had even attempted the most formal and cryptic version of the language.

"Will you be attending daily Council sessions?"

"As I understand it, my position is largely ceremonial."

"Lady Amanda. I understand you wore T'Ianye's gown to the ceremonies, a priceless Vulcan heirloom, first made for the wife of Surak. And that the gown was a gift from T'Pau of Vulcan."

She eyed the reporter, one from one of the Vulcan new services, and recognized him for what he was, a plant meant to ask that question. As she had thought before, no one could be as subtle as her mother in law and no one could be as direct. T'Pau was making her own statement, even in this press conference. "Yes."

Every reporter was scribbling furiously or speaking into note mics. By the evening new broadcast they'd all know exactly who T'Ianye was and what T'Pau's gesture meant.

"And you'll be wearing it in future?"

"It's traditional, yes."

A reporter from one of the human news services eyed the Vulcan reporter picking up on the exchange, "Is that your appropriate title now, for someone in your role and caste in Vulcan society?"

She drew a breath and answered, "So I gather. I'm still having a little trouble getting used to it."

Whereupon two dozen reporters tried to assist her in that by using the new title while waving their hands, trying to get her to call on them.

She answered a few more innocuous questions about what her role entailed and then an outworlder reporter – she could tell by the way he was sweating and his obvious discomfort, asked "What do you think about your son attending Starfleet Academy?"

She drew a sharp breath but a couple of decades on Vulcan had left her admirably able to keep her face composed. She smiled faintly. "At least I'll know where he is at night."

"Given Vulcan's opposition to Starfleet, what does it say for your son to have entered that institution?"

"I think such sharings help all of us in the Federation to understand each other better."

"Is that what your husband thinks?" A long term political reporter she knew well asked, with a knowing smile.

She smiled, for real this time. "Now, Jarn, you know I never speak for my husband. Sarek speaks very well for himself. I'm not political, and I'm no diplomat. I'm just a teacher. And a mother." But she didn't suggest that he ask him.

"And you're now also a direct heir to T'Pau," he said. "A clan leader of the most prominent clan on Vulcan. Does that make a difference in how political you are, given that now you'll be making political decisions, at least in clan affairs?"

She kept the shock from her face, and met the reporter's eyes evenly. Sarek hadn't said a word to her about this. What had he been thinking to leave her so ignorant? "I suspect I'll come to that in time. But for now, I'm still mostly just a teacher. Now if you want to know more about comparative ethology…" She smiled as half a dozen reporters unreservedly shuddered. "Thank you, gentlebeings." And _sotto voice_ to Sascek. "Okay, bodyguard, get me out of here."

And she left in clan leader style, bundled into a clan emblazoned vehicle by half a dozen of the Palace Guard, while the reporters recorded all of it. And she drew a breath of relief as she flew away. "That didn't go too badly," she muttered.

Sascek just gave her a blasé look, and nonchalantly rechecked his phaser settings. She glanced around and noticed all the guard were doing so. She shuddered and tried not to think about that.

_To be continued…_


	25. Chapter 25

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 25**

Home again, Sascek let her into the house and stationed himself outside it, talking to the perimeter guard, who were conspicuous by their presence today. She sighed, thinking that no doubt Sarek had increased security all around due to the press' renewed interest in her. Well, it wouldn't last forever. She walked into her kitchen, determined that once and for all it was going to be **her** kitchen. She might be saddled with Vulcan guards, but by god she would chop her own carrots. And came up against T'Rueth.

"Good afternoon, my lady," T'Rueth said, taking a tray of confections out of the oven that Amanda knew for a fact Sarek found irresistible, and that she made him perhaps three times a year. And not very well at that. Amanda sighed, watching as T'Rueth poured a ladle of some shimmering glaze over the confections and thought of her poor husband, who more than she liked to admit, ate vegetables seasoned with her own blood when she nicked her fingers chopping them. Of course she washed them off and hoped for the best and Sarek never complained, and she hoped he never knew, but –- who was she kidding in the face of all this? Both a vegetable and a fruit salad sat ready for the table that looked more like art sculptures than entrée. On the stove something delectable was simmering. And she'd seen in the oven as well a planth, a mushroom like fungus, which in spite of its origins and composition could taste absolutely delectable when seasoned and long baked, and surrounded by equally roasted vegetables. It was quite a feast.

"My god, am I out of my league," she murmured.

"My lady?"

"It looks and smells wonderful, T'Rueth. Thank you."

"I am honored, my lady."

"Amanda."

T'Rueth gave her a reproving look. "As I was saying, my lady, it is my pleasure to prepare meals in this kitchen again."

Amanda winced and closed her eyes. "Again? You were here before?"

T'Rueth gave her a startled look. "Of course my lady. Before I went to the Palace."

"How long?" Amanda swallowed and asked in a small voice. "How long were you here?"

"Since before your husband was born. I remember when I'Chiya was just a cub, and they both were teething. I'Chiya on all the chair legs, you can see the marks, still there - and Sarek on I'Chiya's ears. What a pair they were. "

Amanda winced. "Ouch."

T'Rueth looked back from her cooking. "Did you injure yourself, my lady?"

Amanda drew a deep breath. "Just a twinge from a painful conscience. T'Rueth, I am sorry. I didn't know."

"Sorry?"

"That you had to go to the Palace. That Sarek – and I-"

"It is understandable and admirable for a young wife to wish to run her own household." T'Rueth said placidly, sliding another tray of confections in the oven. Amanda wondered who she thought was going to **eat** all this food. "But now that you have Council duties, as well as all others, it is only logical -"

"Council duties?" At T'Rueth's enquiring look she shook herself and swallowed. _So it wasn't just the reporter._ "Yes, Council duties. I used to think it was admirable to …want to run my own household. Now I wonder if it was rather selfish."

"Selfish? T'Rueth pondered the English term. Amanda had noticed even Vulcans conversant in English puzzled sometimes over emotional terms. As if they weren't taught them. "To one's self. This is a rather large house to handle on one's own."

"T'Rueth, how long were you planning to stay?"

"To stay, my lady?"

Amanda eyed her, suspicious, suddenly realizing something. "You aren't here for …just the Council week, are you?"

"Matriarch asked me to come back, and of course, I agreed," she said, blithely garnishing one of the fruit dishes with rose petals.

"Yes, of course," Amanda said faintly. "Thank you, T'Rueth."

T'Rueth was more interested in business. "I understand my lady doesn't care for dining in the hall. Perhaps you'd care to have the table set on the terrace? It should be comfortable this evening. And my lord has always preferred to dine there when the weather is fine."

Amanda seldom put dinner out on the terrace, because it meant her lugging everything out there, and then carrying everything back. Nor, except for formal dinner parties, did they ever dine in the main hall. She'd never quite seen the point. The kitchen was huge, and had a biggish table at one end, probably meant for the kitchen staff, but it didn't seem to mind the family using it. And a very pretty little breakfast nook off to one side that overlooked the gardens that they used as often as not for breakfast through dinner. Not that Sarek - _her lord_ - wouldn't - didn't – help clear. She never even had to ask, even though she felt he'd starve before he'd actually prepare something for himself in the kitchen. He seemed to regard that as totally out of his bailiwick. The most she'd ever seen him do was dial the servitor for tea, and that rarely.

Nor had her logical Vulcan husband ever said one word to her, not **once**, not **ever** about liking to dine on the terrace, or she would have gladly done it anyway. In absence of that, taking everything out to the terrace just seemed like a lot of work for illogical _al fresco_ dining.

And she winced inwardly at T'Rueth's repeated use of the archaic titles, reminded of what the cook would say about the usual conclusion to an evening meal, when her _lord_ helped his _lady_ clear the table. She'd probably be shocked. Maybe she should be. Even after twenty years of Sarek unabashedly pitching in to help her clear, as if he'd been born to kitchen chores, when she knew he most decidedly had not, Amanda was starting to agree with her. What had she been doing all these years?

She belatedly met T'Rueth's patiently waiting gaze. "Yes, thank you. That would be lovely."

Probably tied up with Council business, Sarek was rather late coming home. He came flying through the hall obviously looking for her, finding her perhaps by the sheer process of elimination, and not apparently expecting her where he found her. Hardly surprising considering she almost never served dinner out there. Spying her through the long windows on the terrace, he caught himself in his headlong rush, and approached at his more usual sedate pace. She was sitting morosely at the expertly set table, pondering her own inadequacies and feeling useless.

"I did not know we were dining here, my wife."

"T'Rueth thought you would enjoy it."

"Indeed." His gaze swept the table, a little wide eyed at the elaborate, formal setting, even in this casual location, and the many dishes, something to which he was no longer accustomed after years of her casually thrown together meals. She was more of the salad and a one dish type of cook. And since they had fruit galore, she never bothered much with prepared desserts. Spock had never liked sweets; conscious of her weight, she never ate them herself, and though Sarek did like them, he had a tendency to indulge when she did offer them that made her think Vulcans had a predictable weakness in that vein, and so she tried not to play up to it, thinking he wouldn't appreciate her for it.

She didn't miss his lingering glance over the table. "I guess that means you would."

"Amanda?"

"Nothing. Are you hungry?"

"Yes. Very."

Sarek ate with appetite. That wasn't unusual; he generally ate lightly at midmeal and was invariably hungry by evening. Now she was beginning to wonder if he deliberately starved himself so that even **her** meals were palatable.

She told herself such pettiness was beneath her. But she found her meal a little hard to swallow, in spite of the fact that the food was varied, prettily arranged, and delicious. It felt like a large portion of crow, to be exact. The more he ate, the less she wanted to. As the sun set, the outside lighting came on, including the fountain lights. She watched the play of water and light, and sighed.

"There aren't even any bugs," she muttered crossly.

"Amanda?"

'I'm just perversely complaining that everything is perfect."

Sarek paused at that, his eyes wide. "And this is a source of concern?"

"It is if I want my own kitchen back."

He flicked a careless brow, and plucked one of T'Rueth's confections off the serving dish. Before he'd finished the rest of his dinner. If he'd been Spock, she would have swatted his hand for such table manners. Though with Spock, she'd have had no need to. Unlike her husband, her son had always been a picky eater. He wasn't the type to grab for desert before he'd finished dinner. He wasn't the type to grab for desert at all. In fact, even finishing dinner was a moot point for her finicky son, who was totally unlike his father in that respect. Far from cheerfully devouring whatever she put before him, Spock always regarded his dinner with deep suspicion, as if she were trying to poison him. He didn't much care for anything new, didn't like anything prepared differently than she'd prepared it a thousand times before, and regarded a cookbook or a new recipe as an instrument meant to torture him. Indeed, if one of the carrots on his place was slightly longer than the other, he could scarcely bare to eat it. Neither she nor Sarek knew where he got these traits.

Whereas her husband was now reaching for a second sweet. She wondered if he felt he had to grab them while he could and chided herself for such waspishness. Sarek had lost a lot of weight in _vrie_; the chronic fever had wasted him almost to nothing; he had much to make up for. She told herself that now that he really was over it, had convinced himself by releasing her that he **was** over it, and was relieved of that stress; _naturally_ he would have more appetite. It wasn't a damning reflection on her own cooking. But she had trouble convincing herself of that.

"I will speak to T'Pau – and T'Rueth in the morning, about sending her back to the Palace if that's your wish," Sarek offered, and unabashedly went back to his dinner.

"'She _was a good cook, as cooks go, and as cooks go, she went._'" Amanda muttered

"What?"

"A quote, from the immortal Saki. Never mind. You mean to bail me out the way you did twenty years ago? I think not."

Sarek eyed her. "No?"

"Sarek, she cooks like a dream."

"Naturally."

Amanda drew a sharp breath, and then half smiled. He was Vulcan, and he couldn't help telling the truth. One of Saki's besetting sins. But it wouldn't hurt her to tell it either. "It would be awfully selfish of me to deny you that purely so that I can cook for you badly. And have my kitchen to myself."

He paused in wolfing down, at least for him, and albeit with perfect manners and utterly Vulcan control – but wolfing none the less - a fruit dish that had been made to look like the petals of a flower, the one that T'Rueth had garnished all along the edges with real rose petals. Rose petals actually were an exotic confection in themselves to Vulcan taste buds, and a section of her garden was set aside for harvesting to Vulcan markets, which paid a premium price for them. Humans could eat them too, but she never thought they had much taste at all, herself. And she always felt eating them was rather…silly. She always forgot to use them in dishes, even though Sarek, and even her fussy son, if they were in that section of the garden, would sometimes pluck and nibble on rosebuds like chipmunks. Even after all these years it rather startled her. What was worse was that for a time in certain fashionable and cosmopolitan Vulcan circles, it had been _di rigueur_ to have a centerpiece of Terran roses, whereby at the conclusion of the dinner the Vulcan guests plucked the petals and buds and ate them for dessert.

The first time she'd seen that, she'd turned crimson with the effort not to laugh or even crack a smile. Sarek had been concerned enough to take her home as soon as was socially politic, even though she'd assured him she was fine. And then in the aircar, she'd put her head down and laughed, howled really, until the tears rolled down her cheeks. _Please don't eat the daisies_, with a vengeance. She'd tried to explain it to her mystified husband, but she was afraid it rather suffered in translation.

And it was obvious her concerns were suffering in translation now. Sarek was regarding her with a puzzled air.

"You do not cook badly."

"Next to her I do. I mean…" Amanda gestured to the elaborately prepared dishes, all beautifully set. "look at all this."

Sarek looked at it again, eyes narrowed as if seeking to understand what she meant, and raised an inquiring brow.

"Don't you see it?"

"I confess I do not."

"You are hopeless. You are so…so dense!"

"Indeed." Sarek scanned the table again, as if looking for something out of place, then raised his eyes back to hers. "Perhaps. I obviously don't understand the problem now. You have said the food is not unpalatable."

"I can't do anything near to like this," she said in frustration. "Not even if I spent all afternoon. Oh, maybe, if I apprenticed to T'Rueth for a while, I could turn out something similar. I'm not **stupid**."

Sarek did raise his brows in surprise at this, but she was too caught up to even notice.

"I'm not saying it's a skill I can't **learn**. But in the twenty minutes or so that I usually spend throwing a meal together after class, there is no way I can do anything like this. And I don't care how it sounds, but I don't **want** to spend all that time in the kitchen. At least… not every day."

Sarek's brow cleared. "Amanda… do you think I care whether the fruit I eat is made to look like a flower arrangement?"

"I don't know," she regarded him morosely. "You might."

"I don't."

"Then why does **she** do it?"

"Because it is her profession, and she is a professional."

"She still makes you dishes I rarely do. And about ten thousand times better."

Sarek looked at her a moment, astonished. "Are you…jealous?"

Amanda drew herself up. "Sarek-"

"You **are** jealous… of a **cook**." Even his voice was astonished.

Her face flamed. But she had nothing to say for herself.

"I don't think I have ever known you to be jealous before," Sarek pondered, reflecting on that. "How very interesting." He looked back at the table, and looked at her again, and shook his head, mystified.

"You never give me **cause **to be jealous."

His eyes widened. "Am I giving you cause now? Over a cook?" He looked down at the food again, wide eyed and taken aback, as if the food, or his hunger, had suddenly betrayed him.

"No, not jealous like that. But you're right, I feel- I just-"

Sarek's look of inquiry deepened. He couldn't be trying harder to understand.

Amanda's was miserable with jealousy and shame, shame predominating. She'd been so happy to be released, to have her home and life back, and she'd relished the thought of enjoying that. And she couldn't help it, but she did resent losing even a part of what she had so long hoped to regain. Her life before. Her normal life. Their normal lives. Was she so wrong, so selfish, to want that? Part of her said no, but part said yes, she was.

"She knows this kitchen inside and out. And **you**. Since before you were born. And she cooks like a dream. And now I find out T'Pau didn't send her here just for the council day or week, but forever."

"I told you I would speak to her." Sarek went back to his meal as if that were settled.

"I don't want you to."

He raised a brow. "You wish her to stay?"

"No, but - I don't want her made to leave again because of me."

"Amanda, if there is any question between whether I would have you unhappy or T'Rueth back in the kitchen, that is no contest."

"Oh, don't make me feel worse."

"The fact that I value your happiness displeases you?"

"No, that my happiness requires such selfishness displeases me. I don't **want** to spend hours every day in the kitchen doing all this," she waved at the elaborately set table. "But why should **you** have to put up with my inadequate cooking because of my selfish-"

"I have said-"

"Oh, Sarek, I'm not stupid." Amanda gestured to the table. "**She **knows exactly what you want."

Sarek eyed her. "And you believe you don't?"

"At times, no."

Sarek shook his head, mystified. "I quite agree." He pushed his plate away.

Amanda straightened, hurt in spite of some sense of relief that he was at least admitting the truth.

Sarek sat back, fixing her with a look. "Amanda. We have been married many years. Long enough for you to understand certain facets of my character. Indeed you have commented before about various statements I have made concerning my …likes and dislikes. You have in fact, remarked quite adversely on my tendency to harp, I believe is your term, on such. I therefore find it …incomprehensible," he shook his head at that, as if in astonishment, "Quite incomprehensible, that you still do not understand this about me. Indeed, I am amazed that you now consider that I have ever been shy, as you might say, about getting exactly what I want."

She looked at him, and drew a breath.

"**Exactly** what I want." He nodded once, as if that was settled.

"And you are saying you don't want all this?" She asked suspiciously.

"It's very pretty, and the food is good," Sarek said, tilting his head in the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. "If you wish T'Rueth to stay, I have no objection. If you wish her to go, I also have no objection."

"You mean, you'd be just as happy to go back to eating my hastily thrown together meals, made by my own two hands…and too often nicked fingers?"

Sarek frowned. "The latter **has** been a serious concern of mine, as I have often remonstrated. You are abysmally careless of sharp instruments. Avoiding exposure to such would be a positive factor to T'Rueth's staying." He covered one of her hands with one of his, possessively, protectively, and shrugged, for real this time, a human shrug of his shoulders. "But I suspect it would avail me of nothing. You'd find something else difficult or dangerous to do to plague me. Attack the roses with sharp pruning shears. Do your own aircar maintenance. Take in orphaned lematya kittens. Or something worse." He raised his brows. "Of the myriad horrendous possibilities that present themselves to my speculation, I would far rather have you nicking your fingers, as you say, in the kitchen."

"I am **not** careless," she said, stung

Sarek fixed her with a dark glare. "Yes. You are."

"I'm not. I'm just…**human**. And sometimes…not all the time, but yes, **sometimes**, I am in a hurry to fix dinner after my last class and I just-."

"Amanda, you are my bondmate and I am undeniably biased in your favor. I will even admit to loving you, Vulcan as I am. However, my bias only extends **so** far, and **nothing** can alter the undeniable fact that you are abysmally careless of your person. I would have to lock you up to have any peace of mind on that score." Sarek glanced at her affectionately. "And I have already agreed not to lock you up. Though I still find the prospect, at times, very tempting. No more so than when you have a sharp instrument in your careless hands. Keeping you out of the kitchen has therefore some merit-"

"You're just overprotective. You're obsessive over that. You'd keep me wrapped in cotton wool if you could."

"I believe I have exonerated myself on **that** score, my wife."

Amanda flushed at this reference to her recent release. "Let's not get into that right now. And get back to the real issue. I find it hard to believe you wouldn't want T'Rueth to stay. Surely you would have preferred it if she had been here all these years– as she used to be before I came."

Sarek brows rose, and he gave her a look of skeptical disbelief. And then shook his head. "No."

"She cooks **so** much better than me."

Sarek sighed, as if wearying of the argument. "You seem to prefer her dishes. I have stated I have no objection if she stays."

"I'm asking what you **want**."

"I have stated that."

"All right. Then I'm asking **why** you don't want her here. Because it isn't logical that you wouldn't, given she is a much better cook than me."

Sarek sighed slightly. "She is a professional cook. You are my wife. I can appreciate the competent results of a trained professional. As to whether such efforts compare with those prepared by my wife, with her own two hands and nicked fingers, as you say, there **is **no comparison," Sarek regarded her blandly, not a chink in his Vulcan calm, in spite of his words. "I will confess I have found it rather…charming…that my wife has always preferred to… care for her own household with her own hands. So long as that is what you have wished to do," he shrugged, "I have enjoyed the experience in turn. But these are tedious, repetitive chores. I have absolutely no objection if you now find them so- or have found time more at a premium - and wish to hand them over to others. As I have said, I have every expectation you will simply find something else to do which will both charm and exasperate me."

Amanda stared at him disbelievingly. "Oh, you are too good to be true."

"I don't understand."

Amanda drew a deep breath. "I think that is one of the prettiest speeches you have ever made to me."

Sarek's brows rose to his bangs in astonishment. "A discussion on whether or not to retain a cook?"

"You really don't know what you just said, do you?"

He frowned slightly. "Perhaps not, since at the moment, I am finding you utterly incomprehensible."

Amanda looked down. Probably Sarek didn't understand what he had just said, or what it meant to her. And he was probably right. Unlike her son, Sarek had never been a fussy eater. Sensualist that he was, he had never dwelt overmuch on the pleasures of the table, and always seemed perfectly content with whatever she made. Perhaps he was enough of a sensualist that any reasonably prepared food was appetizing to him. Perhaps it was just Vulcan control, or Vulcan indifference. She'd at least never known him to complain in that regard. She should give him credit for knowing his own mind. Unlike her. Right now she was finding it hard to reconcile her own conflicting views. "Maybe because right now I can't understand myself. Sarek, I really don't know what to do about T'Rueth. I think she really wants to stay, and I hate to be the reason she's sent away again."

"As you have so often said, it is your kitchen."

"No. It is yours. I just have…borrowed it for a few years."

"Amanda," Sarek shook his head again, chiding her.

"And as much as you keep telling me you don't care about" she waved her arm at the table "things like this, I think you must care a little bit." She eyed him. "You know, on Earth, there is a common saying. "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Sarek's eyes did widen at this and he actually drew back a little in shock, as startled a reaction as she had ever seen from him, when he was in full control. "What a barbarically gruesome expression."

"Not **literally**," Amanda said in exasperation. "It means a woman should cook well enough to obtain a man's regard."

"I see." Sarek shook his head in disbelief and eyed her warily. "It will take me some time to recover from the …violent image of that idiom. Particularly from my wife. I would much prefer that you **never** used it again." He gave her a last wary look. but then he drew a measured breath, reestablishing his control. "As for the meaning inherent in it. No. Not **my** heart. My requirements are entirely different, and do not include the duties of a cook. Or for that matter, a scullery maid. Or a gardener."

"On the one hand, that is a pretty sentiment. On the other, the more duties you remove, the more it emphasizes just **one**, and that's hardly an estimable vocation."

Sarek flicked an eyebrow. "That depends on who is doing the estimating."

Her face flamed. "This is the attitude that when I am among human women, sends most of them up in arms – and highly critical of me. Sarek, a concubine's duties begin and end in bed. A wife is supposed to – to manage her household."

"I quite agree. But managing it does not entail being maid of all work. It does not require that you dig the garden and clean the floors and prepare the meals and scrub the sehlat when he gets muddy. All of which you have done at times. Unnecessarily so."

"But it does require I show up in bed."

"That is one task cannot be delegated. Nor would I expect that you would wish it so. If you are jealous of even a cook."

Amanda sighed. "We are getting off the original subject of the argument."

Sarek shrugged. "I am not arguing. I am accepting that you can retain or delegate such chores. It is your household and your decision. Apart from those tasks we have mentioned as undelegatable, I am entirely indifferent."

"Even if you say you don't care, **I **think you should have the dishes you care for prepared to perfection."

"Perfection comes in many forms. What I care for is you."

She glanced up at him. "That's sweet. But no one except you would consider my cooking perfection in any form."

"I was not speaking solely of culinary skills."

She flushed. "You are biased."

"I should certainly hope so. Appropriately so, since in this, mine is the only opinion that matters. Other than yours. But as you seem to have great difficulty coming to one, perhaps mine will have to suffice." He looked at her troubled face. "Amanda, you have no cause to be jealous. I gather the traditional human response would be for me to be…flattered and pleased by your jealousy, but I find incomprehensible any pleasure that comes at the price of such unhappiness on your part. Nor does your shocking idiom have any relevance to my heart. I am perfectly content for things to return in our household as they were. In some respects, I too would prefer it. However, if you want her to stay I have no objection. I do not expect my wife to perform tedious chores, any more than," he searched for an appropriate analogy "than you have ever expected me to dig your garden. I have other required tasks. You have other required tasks. There is no difference. I have hired gardeners for those chores. This is the same."

"Not quite the same. I have the garden, you haven't the cook." She sighed. "The problem is, I want both. I want you to have a decent cook. But I'll miss the …intimacy…of having the house, and the kitchen, to ourselves. And badly as I do it, I'll miss cooking for you." She sighed. "I don't know. Maybe – we should keep her, but give her lots of time off?"

Sarek watched her fondly. "That seems a reasonable compromise. I only wonder at the painful struggle you have taken to reach such a trivial decision."

"It isn't trivial to me."

"Yesterday you were very emphatic that the house, and the kitchen, were yours," he said, puzzled again. "Today, you have said it is not, and you seem very …emotional about this. I don't understand. I have never understood your attitude regarding attendants. Does having a cook, and servants, make this less your home?"

Amanda sighed. "Sometimes it feels that way."

"Your feelings are inaccurate," Sarek assured her.

"My feelings aren't logical. That's why they are feelings. Sarek. Can you get T'Rueth to call me something other than "my lady"."

"That is your proper title. What else should she call you?"

Amanda sighed. "How about my name?"

"That is somewhat improper. Why do you dislike the title?"

"It makes me feel funny."

"Funny?"

"Weird. Look I acknowledge that you're head of the ruling clan-"

"Indeed," Sarek looked amused. "I am relieved that my wife accepts this."

"But I just **married** you."

"We have been married some time."

"I meant I** only** married you. I'm not Vulcan royalty. My blood isn't blue – or green, for that matter. I'm not Vulcan."

"Which even my mother has come to conclude was never a requirement for marriage to me. Or for the assumption of that title."

"I've had twenty years experience otherwise."

"That is past."

"And it might not take me another twenty years to get past it myself, but I'm not sure how comfortable I can get with it **this **week." She looked at him. "There have been a lot of changes, recently, my husband. At least, at **least** in my own kitchen, if it **is** still my kitchen, and my home, I'd like to be **myself**." She looked up at him. "To get back to being myself. To have permission to be myself, as I was. Do you understand?"

He blinked at that, thinking of years ago, Mark saying something similar to him regarding his wife. "Yes."

"Thank you."

"Amanda, you do not need my permission for that, but you do have to tell T'Rueth. Or someone must. Have you asked her?

"I tried. She ignored it."

"You must remember, she has worked for many years in T'Pau's household, where such informality would never be considered. She probably thought she misconstrued your meaning. However, if you wish, I will see what I can do to convince her."

"She might take it better from …her lord."

"That is my proper title. One of them, at any rate. You should not hold it against T'Rueth for following the ancient forms."

"I guess I'll get used to that too." She looked at him. "Sarek, she – T'Rueth – said something about Council duties. And a reporter today implied the same thing."

"You have Council duties, my wife," As if that settled that issue, Sarek reached for another sweet.

"No one has told me," Amanda said pointedly.

Sarek paused, giving her an astonished look. Then he settled back, eyeing her speculatively. "I plead cultural blindness in turn, my wife. I had forgotten that you might not know of them."

"What are they?"

He rocked back in his chair, shrugging. "Nothing very onerous. Sitting at Council now and then. Reviewing and voting on occasional legislation. You are not required to attend full time, only in those cases where all the clan leadership must be present to render judgment."

She swallowed hard at this. "And in those cases I am required?"

"Of course."

She drew a breath. "Sarek, all that is in High Vulcan."

"You are competent in that language."

"Not conversant."

"It is an archaic language, and you have not had the opportunity to become facile." Sarek shrugged. "Anything you fail to understand, you can ask."

"Is there no way for me to…get out of this?"

"To get out of it? It is a duty inherent in your position as my wife. It is required."

"So there's no way I could avoid it."

"Your only option would be divorce."

She sighed. "That seems a little extreme."

"A little. Indeed. Amanda you need not be concerned. That is why T'Pau assigned T'Lean to you. She has long performed such duties for my mother – for as Matriarch T'Pau is also not required to attend every session, nor does she care to, but must be present to render judgments on certain issues. T'Lean is well versed in attending such sessions, in unbiased listening, and she has the computer skills necessary to consolidate issues into coherent summaries and presentations. It is part of her function. She was present today as usual in the attendant's section on your behalf."

Amanda's jaw had dropped. "She was?"

"Naturally. As I had expected. It is part of her duties in serving you. You should expect to see regular reports. And T'Lean will bring you whatever you need to evaluate such issues as require judgments, and inform you of the schedule. She will update your computer calendar and inform you of those sessions where your personal attendance is desired or required."

"I thought it was her duty to wait on me hand and foot."

"That too, of course. But I excused her that duty this morning, as you had indicated you had had_ enough of her _yesterday." He eyed her. "Perhaps that was presumptuous of me, she is your attendant. But you were still sleeping, and I decided rest was more beneficial to you than her questionable attentions, given you did not seem to care at all for them yesterday."

"You excused her… for this morning. Meaning she'll be around tomorrow morning."

"This evening, in fact. Council ran late as it often does on the first business day but she should have come back when I did. I am surprised you have not seen her."

Amanda looked down unhappily at her plate. "Great."

"Amanda, if you do not care for her attentions, excuse her from those duties."

She drew a deep breath. "I had thought to excuse her altogether. But Sarek, I didn't know about the Council duties. I **can't** be in two places at once."

"Which is the reason T'Pau assigned T'Lean to you. It is traditional for a First Attendant to be assigned to a First wife upon her assumption of such duties." Sarek flicked a brow. "Though that has been long delayed. It is about time T'Pau did so."

"Well, I can't excuse her now,"Amanda said crossly. "I'll have to think about this."

"I hope the decision does not come as painfully as the one about the cook," Sarek said, regarding her doubtfully. "Amanda if you are concerned about any of this, you can ask me."

"That's easy for you to say. It's hard for me to ask about things I'm not even aware of!"

"True. I was remiss in informing you. I will endeavor to be less…culturally blind. For the present, decide what you want to use of T'Lean's services, if any, and inform her of such. That is all that is required."

She drew a deep breath. "Yes. Thank you."

Sarek regarded her thoughtfully. "Amanda, I dislike seeing you troubled. Servants and attendants are supposed to be a source of aid, not otherwise."

She forced a smile to her face. "Like I said, it's just …a lot of changes, in a short time. I'll be okay." She sighed. "And **I'll** talk to T'Rueth. As you say, it's my kitchen, and I have to get used to all my new roles. Including managing all these attendants."

"Very well. But tomorrow is soon enough. For now, perhaps you would care for a walk in the garden, my wife? This evening is cool enough it should be very pleasant."

"Yes, I'd like that."

He rose and held out a hand. She looked down at the table, and up at him, frowning a little, the habit of years not easily abandoned.

"Amanda," Sarek said, amused and exasperated. "Leave that. T'Jar will see to it. She has her responsibilities-" He took her hand firmly. "And you have yours."

"I guess there are …certain advantages to having servants," she said, giving the table one last lingering look as he drew her to her feet.

"Indeed. And if we are on the subject of your duties," Sarek reached a hand to the clasp in her hair, "there is one you are neglecting."

She flushed, looking up at him while he undid the clasp with his usual fussy care, careful not to pull her hair in the process. "I'm sorry. I guess I was so thrown by T'Rueth, that I forgot."

"A situation easily remedied," Sarek said, freeing her long hair and putting the clasp on the table. "But perhaps it will help your…jealousy…to know there are some duties only **you** can fulfill. Which I **wish** only you to fulfill. And that I will have no other."

"You're not going to let me forget that, are you?" she said, half amused, as he led her off.

"There is a certain novelty in finding an area in which I can make you jealous, my wife." He ignored the approach of T'Jar to clear the table, and indulged in his first impulse, to encircle his wife's waist with his arm. "I might keep T'Rueth around only for that."

"Would you indeed?" she asked, teasing in turn.

"Wholly apart from her…excellent cuisine."

"You!" Amanda laughed, and wrapped her own arm around her husband's waist, and let him lead her off, into the gardens.

_To be continued_…


	26. Chapter 26

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 26**

Later that evening, Amanda was working in her study, still trying frantically to catch up with what she had missed in the last six months. On top of everything else, Sarek had submitted the academic papers she had written during her stint as chattel to journals, and she was deep in discussions with review committees. But when she brought up her email, there was a message from Spock, outside of his usual time. She brought it up.

"Greetings, mother." His eyes were wide, even wondering. More wondering than hers, given he was messaging her out of turn. "Federation newsfeeds showed some clips of the High Council ceremony. I was surprised…and pleased," he drew a breath. "Very pleased, to see you in attendance. I cannot think how this has come about."

She had forgotten he'd see that. And of course, not knowing what had happened at home, he would be surprised. "I'm not likely to tell you," Amanda commented, feasting her eyes on him as she always did.

"But I suppose you and Grandmother have made some sort of …peace. Or rather Grandmother has relented. I know it was never you who kept up the rift in our family. I find it strange to consider, that it is Vulcans who espouse logic and peace in their interactions, and I am considered delinquent for attending a Starfleet Academy which espouses war. Yet here we learn as much tactics and diplomacy as war. While my interactions with those on Vulcan have been fraught with so much conflict. And given the rifts between those of my family, it has always been you who sought to heal them. It has given me much to consider, and to value, in my new life here."

Amanda sighed, thinking of Sarek. _If you only know how you are losing him by this. Risk really losing him, not just for a few years, but forever, with every day that you let go by in this horrible silence. He doesn't even talk of this as __**home**__ any more. He speaks of it as Vulcan. Starfleet is becoming his home. Everyone needs __**some**__ home. If you deny this one to Spock, then he has to find a new one. He can't help it. Would you wish that on him, my husband? When I know how much you want him home?_

"And less to regret, in my old. I am …content." His eyes met hers. "I am very content, Mother, in my new life. And if I have not done so before, I express my gratitude to you, for allowing me the freedom to find it." There was a dark truth in his eyes as he looked out at her. "I know you did not have to let me go."

Amanda drew a sharp breath at that, her son echoing the words she had so recently said to his father.

"To leave Vulcan. To…to leave you. And to a Sarek displeased with me, and no doubt also with you to some respect…by default. I have had some concern on that these last months." He lowered his eyes. "Actually for many years. I so often seem to stand between you and my father. Or put you at odds with him. It has never been my desire to do so. Perhaps my absence has helped some of that to pass."

"It has not!" Amanda denied.

"For you, with T'Pau's acceptance, comes a wider Vulcan acceptance, and my … and Sarek is no doubt pleased with that as well. It is well past time it was thus for you." He looked up as if he could see her through the vidscreen, his eyes dark. And then his head lowered, sure sign he was feeling emotional. "Your situation leaves me hopeful that such implacable resentments can fade, even among Vulcans. That there may be acceptance for me as well…some day. Between me and my…between me and Sarek."

"Oh, Spock," Amanda's eyes filled with tears.

"I bid you goodbye, Mother." He looked up, and his eyes twinkled, and she could see his father in him, in that. "Or perhaps, as a dutiful clan heir to clan leader, I should say, Goodbye Leader." And he gave her for the first time the ancient title she had so recently assumed. And before the video pickup, knelt to her in ritual fealty, hands outstretched, head bowed, and spoke the words he would have said to her in Council, if he were not worlds and light-years estranged.

She did cry then, burst into sobs, while the message ran out, to only the Starfleet chevron on the screen.

And drawn by that, perhaps by her emotional reverberation across the bond, for she'd been too shocked and upset to shield, Sarek came to the door, concerned. "My wife, are you—?"

Even through her tears, she hit the cutoff button on the terminal so that the chevron vanished before Sarek was halfway across the room.

But he was not dense. He stood there, unwilling now that he understood the source of her tears, but alarmed, even pale, and looked anxiously from the viewer to her as if he did not know what to do.

Finally he found his voice. "Has…has something happened?"

Amanda gulped, and got her tears under control. "No. Nothing has happened."

"You are crying."

"Not for any…serious reason. I'm just being emotional."

He looked down at her, concern and a touch of resentment coloring his manner. "You do not cry for trivial reasons. I do not like seeing you brought to tears, Amanda. By anyone. Unless…is there some danger?" He would not ask if Spock were ill, or injured, but the question was in his eyes.

"It is not that."

"Then do not let whatever it is upset you so. Amanda. Please." One hand traced the line of tears on her cheek. "I do not like to see you cry."

She looked up at him, half hopeful. "Can I speak to you of this?"

He looked down at her, and then looked at the viewer. The blank, empty screen. And his hand dropped from her face and he shook his head, backing away a pace, as if burned. "No."

She swallowed, "Sarek?"

He shook his head. Not angry, but slowly, resolutely, his face as blank as the viewer's, with his control.

"Please?"

"Amanda. **No.**"

She lowered her head, brought abruptly back to reality by his sharp tone. The fear in his eyes making him harsh. She had no right to do this, to risk this for him. She ducked her head, reminded anew. He had every right to be frightened of anything that might jar his control, so recently out of _vrie_. Once burned, twice shy. They'd agreed it was too soon for him to risk that. "I beg forgiveness, my husband. I did not think."

For a moment, there was silence. And then Sarek reached out, slowly, and caressed her cheek, raised her face to his. "And I apologize as well, my wife." He looked down at her, and one hand dried her tears. She closed her eyes at the gentle feel of his hand on her face.

"Amanda…"

She met his eyes, a trifle anxiously.

But Sarek was calm and in control again. If resolute. "Don't let him make you cry again."

"It is not him that—"

"Do not speak to me of this, Amanda."

'It is this situation-"

"**I said** **no words**."

He hit every word with such intensity she froze and subsided.

"That was our agreement, my wife."

She didn't dare look up. "I know. I'm sorry."

A pause. Then Sarek sighed, his voice returned to normal. "I am sorry as well, my wife. I did not mean to frighten you. I am well, Amanda. I just choose not to risk that."

"I don't want you to risk it either." She looked up at him. "This is just difficult for me, my husband. It is hard…for us both." Nor did she dare to say who the other in her reference was.

Sarek shook his head, refusing to speak the forbidden name as well. "He need only come home, my wife. Return, in obedience, and fealty. And then, then I **would** be lenient." And as if he didn't trust himself to stay further in the conversation, and retain his control, he left.

She looked after him, and closed her eyes in defeat. Because her son was as stubborn as her husband. And he was making – perhaps had already made himself - a new home. And had sworn obedience and fealty there. He would never come back to be the obedient clan heir Sarek wished him to be. Needed him to be.

Spock was human enough, perhaps, that like her, he rebelled at the thought of years of being treated like an adolescent before he could strike out on one's own. In a Terran/Federation society, he'd be considered an adult for the most part, and perhaps more important, not merely as Sarek's son – or her own. He must be reveling in the freedom he had gained thus far, released from the constraints and judgmental standards held on him for so many years as Sarek's half-human son.

Vulcans were rare enough in Starfleet that his minor lapses of control would probably not be noticeable, or even if they were noticed would be less of an issue, perhaps even someone of a benefit for him, in gaining acceptance among his peers. In Starfleet, he could be his own person, Vulcan or human, either or both, as he chose. In that, Sarek **had **lost him. Once Spock got used to that freedom, would he ever truly be comfortable back in a society which would not let him be himself?

And she grieved for herself, even as she was happy for Spock. Because for all that her son knelt to her and spoke the ancient clan titles that she still felt were not her due, she did suffer with Sarek in this. She had lost Spock too.

_To be continued…_


	27. Chapter 27

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 27**

The next day, T'Lean returned to the Fortress from Council, and stopped in the kitchen.

"Is she here?"

"My lady is still teaching," T'Rueth said, placid as always. "Did Sarek return with you?"

"He is delayed by Federation affairs," T'Lean said, her tone implying how unworthy they were to claim his attention.

"He is much taxed," T'Rueth said. "Between Council and Federation matters. However, I have prepared a nice evening meal upon their return. And look," she gestured to a rack where a dozen oatmeal cookies cooled. "Something for my lady. They are a Terran dish," she confided to her uninterested companion, "I found the recipe in one of her cookbooks. Fascinating, this Terran cuisine. My lady's gardens and greenhouses offer many exotics not accessible even at the Palace. I will quite enjoy experimenting with such a wealth of foodstuffs. And I noticed she did not eat the dessert I prepared before. Perhaps a Terran dish will tempt her."

T'Lean eyed them, thinking they looked lumpy and repulsive. Though suitable for her. "And if they do not, who else will eat them? There is no other sehlat in this house."

T'Rueth gave her a confused look. "Sehlat?" When T'Lean did not respond, T'Rueth gave the tilt of her head that was a Vulcan shrug. "Even if she is untempted, it does not matter. This is my third batch. Sascek and the rest of the guard finished the first two with their lunch. I had to send them from the kitchen to keep these from being devoured. They are quite palatable to Vulcans as well. No doubt Sarek will find them acceptable too. **You** may have one if you wish," T'Rueth offered indulgently.

T'Lean curbed her first reply. She'd already been too indiscreet. "I am not hungry."

"If you are taking reports to my lady's study, there is her clasp on the table. Perhaps you can take it up with the reports." T'Rueth nodded at it. "T'Jar found it while clearing the evening meal."

"Your lady is careless."

T'Rueth half smiled. "On the contrary, according to T'Jar it was Sarek who unclasped it and left it there. He is much enamored of his wife. Well, such is as it should be, between bondmates," T'Rueth said placidly, a bit sing-song, accompanying her words with rhythmic motions as she chopped vegetables. "And her hair is an unusual color, for a Vulcan," she added with tolerant doubt, "but very pretty, once one gets used to the novelty." She swept the vegetables in a bowl. "After all, not all can be Vulcan. There is much to be said for diversity."

T'Lean snatched up the clasp and left the room before she was forced to hear more of this kitchen philosophy.

She uploaded the reports into the human's computer system in her study. And entering the master bedroom, laid the clasp on Amanda's dressing table, uncomfortable, remembering Sarek before this very table, the human in his embrace. He must be bewitched by her. Even given that he was in the direct line of the house of Surak, passionate by nature, he was too enamored.

T'Lean hurried on her way out the door, and then, as if she had lost a battle against herself, turned and looked at the room. This was the room in which **she'd** expected to live, the bed where **she **would have conceived her children. She walked over to the wide bed. It did not look like it housed a human animal.

She ran her hand over the antique coverlet, a priceless ancient tapestry of the clan shield and arms, one that by tradition always graced the clan leader's bed. She raised her eyes from that to the other side of the bed, where Amanda slept, and her gaze narrowed. There was a clutter of items on the table by that side of the bed, a chronometer, a pair of frames such as that used for pictures, or documents.

She picked one up, and glanced at it, and her eyes widened in shock. It was a list, an ignoble list, of conditions that the human had been subject to as chattel. She read down it, partly out of curiosity to see how the human had been forced to live. And partly out of satisfaction. Sheer relish. She had not been able to humble the human herself, but she had been humbled, **well** humbled, if this list was any guide.

She picked up the other frame and recognized Sarek's hand. Another list of chattel conditions, slightly longer. She wondered why the human kept them. No doubt she needed a written list of her restrictions when chattel. Humans were notoriously forgetful. But she was not chattel anymore, so why retain it? Surely she was not still subject to them any longer?

And then she saw the inscription at the bottom. The formal release from Sarek restoring all the above sanctioned rights and privileges, the release from chattel status, the restoration of bondmate status. A date. The English words _**"As a reminder and a promise"**_, and Sarek's signature.

She put down the frame, considering the pair anew. So one implied the beginning of chattel status, the other the end. Odd that the human would need a **reminder** that she was freed. Interesting in fact. Very interesting. Rife with possibilities that required consideration. But for the present…

She raised her eyes to the clasp she had returned to the human's dressing table, and her gaze narrowed. She remembered Amanda's panic when she'd thought to trim the human's hair, and Sarek's fury at the sight of the scissors in her hand. Even freed, Amanda had been at times wearing her hair unbound when in the house, regardless of servants present. As if she were chattel still. And even when she did not, as this clasp proved, Sarek unbound her hair, emphasizing he still regarded her as chattel, however he had technically freed her. The human sometimes dressed as chattel as well. Often did so in private quarters. And in this room, as T'Lean herself had been witness, she was allowed no clothes.

It **was** tradition, back to the ancient times when a wife was considered as much property as not, but such traditions were not always practiced in these modern times. T'Lean herself had thought it unnecessary to follow all the ancient ways – and in fact had tired of them so thoroughly she lived apart from her bondmate, only joining him in his _Times_. And that was quite enough.

But passions rose high in _Xtmprszqzntwlf__._ It was one of the drawbacks of marrying into the direct line. The passions that had made the males the strongest leaders, also meant they were prone to others, jealousy, possessiveness, desire. When they chose to marry in passion, not by arrangement, they often kept their wives close at hand, under all the old traditions. This was a drawback T'Lean had seriously considered. But with it came with the increased status and power of being wife to a clan leader. And if Sarek was to retain the human as chattel, T'Lean had not considered it a drawback either.

Well, Sarek apparently had released the human only in some respects. The human bore the title of wife, but she had not been released from all the conditions of her prior status. It was a shame they could not all be reinforced. She looked down the list, longingly, and a notion came to her.

She walked over to the dressing table and picked up the box of hair clasps, and pulled the ribbon off the mirror. If Sarek preferred his chattel with her hair unbound, let him have her thus.

_To be continued…_

_Note: Xtmprszqzntwlf was the family name attributed to Spock and Sarek's family in Roddenberry's The Making of Star Trek _


	28. Chapter 28

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 28**

The next morning, Amanda's hand, reaching for a clasp with which to pull back her hair, closed on nothing. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and looked over her dressing table. Nothing there. Even the ribbon that hung over her mirror was gone. For a moment, she sat there, before a cold chill swept through her. Then she swiveled to stare at her bedside table. Both frames were there. She let out a relieved breath, and shook herself. She looked hard over her dressing table, below it, in every drawer. There wasn't even a ribbon left to tie back her hair. She sat back, thinking on that.

It made no sense. She thought back to the night before. She'd unbound her hair before Sarek had come home, and she was sure the box had been there then. She thought of their conversation after Spock's message, but though Sarek had slipped and spoken sharply for a moment, he'd recovered quickly, and seemed fine afterward. She wondered why Sarek would do such a thing as this. Nothing had happened the night before that should have caused him to take her clasps away.

She went to her closet, but her clothes were all there. It still made no sense. She thought of Sarek taking away her clasps that first day of chattel status, of his shelving her book, the night after he'd caught her reading. The subtle, tacit messages in that action. And she looked uneasily at her dressing table, and felt herself shiver. He wasn't in _vrie _now. He was…fine. He was…all right…wasn't he?

And if he was, why would he do such a thing? True, she occasionally forgot and left her hair bound in the house, in spite of what she'd promised, but she hadn't yesterday. Nor did he seem to take much notice or care when she forgot. Or when he did notice, he just teased her about it, or unbound it himself. So why would he do this?

She stood uncertainly in the center of the room, hugging her elbows against the shivers that stole through her. And then shook herself, and stood up straight.

"I'll just have to ask him," she said. And went out the door, resolutely in search of him.

And found him coming in search of her. "Amanda. I was hoping to breakfast with you. There is a very good chance I will be late tonight. This may be the only meal we can take together."

"Yes, of course," she said.

Sarek took her hand. "T'Rueth has it ready. You will not be late for class?"

"No, I have time. I was coming to look for you anyway." She drew breath to ask him, but stopped when he reached out, smoothing her hair with a hand.

"You left your hair unbound for me. That was …very thoughtful, my wife."

She let out her drawn breath in surprise.

"Sarek, did you…" she trailed off, unable to even ask the question in the face of her husband's look of calm inquiry.

"Did I what?" He tilted his head and looked down at her, calm, relaxed and …happy. She could feel it through the bond. Happy at the thought of breakfast – for he was hungry, happy to be breakfasting with her, happy she'd been so thoughtful to leave her hair unbound as she'd promised. She thought she really had to be more careful in future, when such little things made him happy.

But it still didn't explain what happened to her clasps. Sarek wasn't forgetful, nor was he disingenuous. If he'd taken them, he'd have told her.

"Nothing. I think I just misplaced something."

He raised a brow. "Surely nothing worth so troubled a look, Amanda."

She looked up at him and smiled. "No. Nothing worth any trouble."

After breakfast, she went back to their suite, back to their bedroom. And there, sitting on the dressing table, was the box of hair ties. And there was the ribbon, hanging from the mirror.

"I didn't imagine it," she declared. "I didn't!"

But the evidence didn't lie.

Frowning, she took a clasp and bound back her hair. Looking from the box to the ribbon. She hadn't imagined it, they had been gone. And Sarek had been with her. It couldn't have been him. She'd seen him – watched him - walk out the door, the gate, seen his flyer take off. She'd watched him leave, he **couldn't** have come back and done this.

She'd watched him leave.

She suddenly shivered, felt as if she'd taken a direct hit in the solar plexus. Watching leavetakings had been a compulsion of hers before. Why had she watched him leave now, when she was freed? Surely she understood, now, finally, all that was past. Her eyes flew to the double frames, her reassurance that she was no longer chattel, in spite of hair clasps that appeared and disappeared like a Cheshire cat.

She was freed. And perhaps, perhaps she had just overlooked them before. She straightened her hair, steeled herself for her own leavetaking, more troubled than she would have liked, in spite of what she'd told Sarek.

And walked resolutely out the door.

And didn't see T'Lean watching her with satisfaction.

_To be continued… _


	29. Chapter 29

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 29**

She was sitting at her desk at the Academy, when reaching to take a priority call, she froze at the sight of the Starfleet Chevron. A priority call, not a message, from Starfleet? Her heart in her throat with worry, she signaled her acceptance. And then the head and shoulders of her son filled the screen.

"Spock! Are you all right?"

"As you can see, Mother," Spock actually panned down at himself, as if wondering what could be wrong with his appearance.

"It's just …you've never called me directly before. You always message."

"I am entitled to make a direct subspace call once a Terran month." He looked at her curiously. "I have tried before, but never could reach you at the Academy. And my calls at home," his expression changed minutely, his eyes narrowing, a trace of something hardening the set of his mouth, "never went through

She drew herself up at that. "I see. I'm sorry." She smiled. "It is good to see you."

He blinked and shrugged a brow. "I am sure I appear little different than in a message squirt."

"Oh, to talk to you directly, then. Don't lets waste time quibbling. I've missed you so much."

"Indeed. Yet I suspect in some respects we communicate more of import now, then before. At least, than in the last few years."

"Perhaps. You sound just like your father when you say, _indeed_ like that."

He flushed and lowered his gaze, a child again. "Mother…please don't-"

"I'm sorry. Spock…**he** is sorry too."

Dark unforgiving eyes, hurt hidden deep within them. "Is that why he has had my calls to you blocked at the house?"

"That…that was something else. Don't read too much into it. They shouldn't be blocked anymore."

Spock shook his head slightly, still unforgiving. "I prefer to call you at the Academy. I have learned not to intrude where I am unwelcome," Nothing could disguise the hurt in his voice. "Even to make a private call to you."

"That is **not** true. Spock, he told me, just recently, that he **wants** you to come home. That he … that he would be lenient."

Spock's eyes widened. "I am not a child, to tremble before his disciplines. I don't **need** him to be lenient."

"You **do** want a relationship with your father."

"Not at any expense. I will not be held hostage to Sarek's expectations. I have done that long enough."

She drew up at that. That hit a bit too close to home.

"I don't think that's very fair. Or entirely true. They were yours as well, once."

"And now that I have chosen a slightly varying course, I have seen the gates of my home close against me."

"Spock, that is not so."

"Indeed. He strove to disown me. He tried to get T'Pau in league with him. I dare say that he tried to require that of you as well."

She couldn't deny some of that, and could only say, "That hasn't happened."

"Indeed. Mother what would it have cost him to allow me to speak with you when I wish?"

She winced at that. Her son was out arguing her, as always and her hands were tied to even help him understand. She said nothing for a long moment.

Spock eyed her, inferring the worst from her silence. "Please, Mother. I do not wish to be in contention with you as well."

"Never think that. I'm just disappointed. I want you and he reconciled so much."

"Mother, you surely you did not think that my decision to attend Starfleet was the action of a child? That if I got my parents' attention, I would return?" He seemed astonished at the thought.

Funny how she had known that before he left, but now, it seemed as if her mind had rewritten things. The estrangement had become so huge in her mind, overwhelming the decision, that she somehow had come to feel if the estrangement were reconciled, it would overcome the decision. And if that were the case, for her who communicated weekly with her son, how much Sarek had rewritten things? Spock was in Starfleet; it was for Sarek to reconcile himself to that, not for Spock to come home. "No. I know it was not that." But at the back of her mind was that if she were losing touch with her son's life, how much more must it be true of Sarek.

"Then why speak to me of this?"

Her gaze went back to his. "I suppose in some respects, that is how your father sees it. He wants you to come home so much."

"To live the life he has planned for me. I am not unaware. But I think not. You know I have chosen otherwise."

"He loves you. He has always, only wanted what was best for you."

"That is an altruistic human motive, mother. I think…" he hesitated before saying the tacit criticism, but then steeled himself and said it. "I think he wanted what was best for him."

She started to argue, then was frozen by the memory of Sarek, sitting across from her at the terrace table and calmly, unabashedly admitting he always got exactly what he wanted. She knew that wasn't true. T'Pau had thwarted him for years, about his marriage. Still he had married her, and T'Pau had not been able to do much to stop him. And T'Pau had come around, so Sarek had gotten what he'd wanted, at last. And now Spock. And Spock was succeeding a little better, but then he had both her and his grandmother on his side. And if Sarek had had his way, if she had even agreed to back him in that, or if T'Pau had, he would have kept Spock out of Starfleet by any means. Perhaps it was more that Sarek always felt entitled to what he wanted, and usually got it in the end. She shook her head at her philosophical musings and returned to her impatiently waiting son. "That's unfair. You are too young to judge your father's motives."

"He is **not** my father. He has denied that relationship."

"Oh, Spock. You know that's not true. He hasn't refuted you before Council. And he won't be able to, not with T'Pau – and me – so opposed. Your little ploy worked. And don't ask me what I think of that manipulation, Spock. You wouldn't like the answer. Suffice to say what you deserve for that alone would leave you unable to sit down comfortably for a month."

He raised his chin at that, drawing himself up. She'd spanked him only a few times in his life, and more than a decade ago, but he obviously hadn't forgotten the memory. "I did not force Sarek to refute me."

"No, but when he raised the threat, you put into play a scheme of which I do not approve."

"I did what I must, to ensure Sarek understood my decisions were my own. And remain my own. If he chose to deny me for that, after all I accomplished on Vulcan, as son to **both** of you, then my place was never on Vulcan."

"Don't say that," she winced. "You said you did plan to come home eventually."

He lowered his eyes. "Perhaps. I have something to accomplish here first." He looked up at her. "Mother. Please. I am not averse to living the life he has planned for me. I just don't want to live it **now**. I am not asking for much. A few years only. I thought you, at least, could understand something of why I had to leave."

"I do. Spock, I don't want to criticize you for what you felt you had to do. I just wish you had found a better way to do it. You might have trusted me enough to ask me. I might have been able to help you find that better way. And I think you are being very hard on your father."

"I did not ask, because you would have regarded it as the desires of a child. And you would have taken his side then, just as you are doing now. You would have seen him prevent me from going."

She shook her head, frustrated. "You and your father are **such **a pair. This is **not** a contest. I can love **both** of you."

"And if we could not be reconciled, you would be forced to take sides one against the other, or stand between us both. I would not be the cause of dissention between you and my father. His reaction to my …betrayal was quite intolerant enough. If you took sides against him as well, I shudder to think how he might respond to you. This was my doing, Mother. I would not have you pay any price for it." He eyed her. "No doubt you've paid something already."

She froze at his too perceptive analysis of his father. And of herself. And avoided that too perceptive gaze as well. Her son might have troubles dealing with his own issues, but at times he'd had too devastatingly accurate an eye for his parents'. "He was not pleased. You left him – you goaded him – into a terrible temper. I understand why you did it. You wanted your freedom, unconditionally. And you were determined to do what you must to get it. I understand that, and I forgive you for what you felt you had no choice but to do. Your parents' shortcomings are not your fault. But still, you had years to get used to the idea of your entering Starfleet. You gave your father only a few hours before you left. That wasn't very fair of you."

He only looked mulish. "If I had given him any more time, he would have stopped me."

He was right about that, but she still half smiled at the way he said it. In some respects her son **was** still a boy, a child. Particularly in his emotional development. Perhaps that was the problem with both her Vulcans. Under all that control was a lot of feeling, and not much experience in dealing with it. "Perhaps. Probably. But that doesn't change the situation. Just please remember, he **is** still your father, no matter what. And you are his son."

Spock looked down again. "Legally. That is all. If that."

"That is not true. This …rift between you is temporary. It won't last forever. And for now, just know we both miss you. We miss you very much. Both of us."

Spock's eyes met hers. "This estrangement is not my doing. All I wished to do was to attend the school of my choosing. He chose to impose this, and he chooses to continue it."

"You kind of led him into it, though, didn't you?" Amanda prodded.

"Mother, no one can lead Father into anything." Spock said.

"I understand why you did what you did – you needed to keep him from coming after you, forcing you to come home. And it was a **brilliant** ploy, so far as that went, and it worked. But now that you've made sure he won't, not that you've gotten what you wanted, isn't it time to try to reconcile with him?"

"I would speak to him, if he would speak to me. But he will not."

"Have you tried to message him?"

Stony silence answered that.

"**One** of you is going to have to make the first move."

A trace of fire blazed in his eyes. "Indeed. I am not even allowed to call **you** – at what you claim is still my home. It seems otherwise to me. If even my **calls **to you are unwelcome, are refused, how much more so **myself**. Or my calls to him? Do you wonder that I don't even try?"

"That was **not** for the reasons you think."

"What other reasons can there be?" He looked at her demandingly, and when she stared back, helpless, unable to answer him, unwilling to put the guilt for what happened to them on his slender shoulders, as he no doubt would, he shook his head, taking her silence as truth. "If I tried to contact him, he would take it as that I had regretted my choice. And insist upon my return."

Amanda sighed. To a certain extent her son was right. There was no doubt Sarek still somehow expected that Spock would find his choice intolerable, and would come home. He still seemed to regard Spock's actions as the rebellion of a child, not that he could actually be content, could find a place, in Starfleet. If Spock did contact him now, and refused to come home, what would that do to Sarek's control, so newly regained?

"Mother, please. I did not call to argue – or discuss – Sarek. I accept that the results of my actions have resulted in this estrangement. Indeed I had come to believe it was inevitable. But I do not wish to be in contention with you as well. I am finding this conversation very…painful."

She drew a breath and decided that perhaps it was best they changed the subject. Her son's ability to handle emotions was limited – he'd never had much opportunity for practice, and his last statement was a near desperate plea. She didn't want Spock to think Sarek at fault for her being difficult to reach. But for the moment, it was probably the best, the only explanation he'd accept, apart from the truth. And that he should know the actual truth was unimaginable. Sarek would wish that no more than she. With her son conveniently so far away, she hadn't yet grappled with that prospect. The thought of Spock inadvertently finding out what had happened to his father…and her - of being so guilt-ridden he would come home for that reason, submit to Sarek's authority for the next four decades, robbed her of speech. She would never forgive herself. T'Pau would never forgive her.

Even Sarek wouldn't wish him to come home for that reason. And Spock – he was still enough of a child that yes, he would feel guilty and he might just resign from Starfleet. But in future, he would never forgive her for it. And have it forever hanging over his head, not just what he'd engendered, but the notion that it could happen to him as well. Oh, no. This was one time when she thoroughly embraced Sarek's notion of _never_.

She calmed herself. She wasn't about to tell him. And Sarek certainly never would. Nor would T'Pau. So Spock was safe in that. T'Pring probably knew, but she had never had much to do with Spock before he left, and Amanda doubted they were corresponding much now.

She shook herself out of those thoughts and dealt with the more immediate issue. Her ability to reach, help and yes, influence her son depended on his continuing to allow her into his life, depended upon his calling her, and taking her calls and messages. The last thing she wanted to do was make the experience unpleasant for him. "I'm sorry. I haven't talked to you directly in months. I don't mean to nag during the little time that we have to do so."

His eyes met hers. "I do appreciate, Mother, that you care enough for me that you would wish to see me on Vulcan again."

'If you only knew-"

"But it is not to be."

She subsided. "I know, " She gave him a scapegrace smile. "I do understand. I even approve, after a fashion."

"I am grateful for your approval."

"But I am your mother, and I miss you. You can't blame me for trying, at least a little. Can you?"

He half smiled in turn. "I think not. You **are** human."

She smiled. "You are your – no I won't say it. Tell me, how do you like being the sole Vulcan in Starfleet Academy?"

"I like it very well. And they sorely need at least one, I believe," he teased, still amused.

"Hmmm. I'll let that go, for now." She smiled again. "How do you like being in a school where almost **everyone** has a human mother? That must be a nice change. You've at least got one up on the few Tellurites and Andorians there."

"Mother!" He shook his head in pretend shock, but his eyes were laughing. "You are – you are **very **wicked."

She laughed in turn at hearing him use that word, that code phrase, Sarek's and hers. "What are your plans after the end of term?" She hesitated, but asked the question, "Can you come home?"

"I…I think not, Mother."

Part of her felt it was best, part of her ached to have him back on Vulcan, by any means. "Even if you didn't want to come here, T'Pau would welcome you at the Palace." She gave him an arch look. "Now that I have visiting privileges with her, I could see you there myself. Wouldn't that be fun?"

He half smiled. "Indeed. It is …tempting to come to Vulcan merely to see you and Grandmother together."

"To come home," Amanda said, correcting his vocabulary.

"Home." He said the word as if tasting it, then shook his head, rejecting the term and the prospect. "I think not."

She was a little annoyed at his resistance, in spite of herself. "We're not going to throw a lasso around you and keep you here."

"I was not anticipating that. But it is a valid point. **He** might."

"You don't really believe." Seeing his wary eyes, she relented. "All right. I won't argue. Maybe it is too soon for both of you. But think about it, honey, okay? Please?"

"Yes." He paused. "Mother, I have tried to fulfill the conditions of our agreement."

"What do you mean?"

"You will not take my not coming home for the summer break as an indication I've been delinquent as to your conditions? And to my promise?"

For a moment she wondered what promise he meant, truly puzzled, and then her eyes widened as she recalled their conversation under the lematya carving. So much had happened of promises since then. "No, of course not. Spock, those conditions were as much in jest as in truth."

He relaxed a trifle. "So I had assumed. But I have tried to fulfill them. I would not wish you to be displeased with me."

"Don't be silly."

"I endeavor never to be …silly, mother. But I am relieved.

Amanda paused for a beat, thinking anew how hard it must be for her son, caught between a Vulcan father who by Vulcan tradition expected his lightest suggestions to be instantly obeyed, and a human mother who gave ultimatums half in jest. The poor child had a right to be confused. The poor child had a right to a complex. She'd long known that, and yet it was hard, to guard her every word with her child, that he not take her amiss. Didn't she have some right to be herself, with her own son? She sighed and half smiled, to lessen the next demand. "That doesn't get you off messaging me every week though."

He lowered his eyes, amused and striving to cover it. "I no longer believe I need to be threatened to do that."

"Hmm. Really. Finally. At last. Funny how I don't get all teary eyed at these expressions of undying devotion from my only son and heir."

"Mother, please." But he was amused.

She smiled in turn. "You don't have to come home for the summer. But do think about it."

"Perhaps. So you are truly reconciled with Grandmother?"

"We've become quite close, actually. She is still the same formidable matriarch. She just has warmed a bit toward me."."

"I am pleased. Actually," he lost the half smile, and grew serious, "my call concerned another matter."

He was so grave, she drew up, cautious. "Yes?"

"Your last message indicated that you have…T'Lean in your home."

"Well, yes. Among others…"

His eyes were puzzled, anxious. "I did not quite believe it. How did that come to pass?"

"As I said in my message. They're a legacy from your grandmother. Apparently when she recognized me as her daughter, I got a horde of retainers dumped on me as well. It's tradition, for her to start my household off thus. Even though it is twenty years too late." She looked at him, puzzled. "You must know about those traditions."

"Yes, of course," he blinked, impatient at that, "I understand all that. But not T'Lean. Why her?"

"Why not T'Lean? She was T'Pau's First Attendant, and I gather that's traditional as well."

His mouth set. "There are times when tradition should be abandoned for other considerations."

"Oh?" Amanda shrugged at that. Her knowledge of tradition being limited. "I know she doesn't like me. I can't say I'm fond of her either, but-"

"Fond of her?" he looked astonished. "I think **not**. Mother." Spock said, and Amanda swallowed the rest of her words, startled at how grave he looked. "**Not** T'Lean. Send her back to Grandmother. Send her **anywhere**. But don't keep her in your home."

"What do you know you're not telling me?"

He lowered his eyes, at once a boy again. "I don't …**know**…anything."

"That's not true."

His eyes met hers, grave. "I know she is your enemy."

Amanda caught her breath at this hyperbole, half amused at his studied gravity. "Oh, honey. Surely Vulcans don't **have** enemies."

Dark eyes challenged that, without words.

"Then why. Why is she my enemy?"

He looked at her, and swallowed hard, like she did, when she was anxious. Looked down, unhappily, so that she could still see the boy in her son. Her boy. She could almost understand Sarek's concerns, so clearly could she see herself now in her son, when Spock was upset. This was apparently the true reason for his call; he'd taken ages to come to the point, and even now was reluctant to speak. "It's not my place…"

"Spock, you have called me direct over subspace to tell me this, so tell me. Don't leave me grappling with vague warnings."

"Surely you know she was meant to marry my – to marry Sarek."

Amanda blinked at that. "I- No. I didn't know that."

"She is opposed to you. She would welcome your removal. Has in fact, planned for it. Quite intensely."

"How do you know this?" Amanda asked, curious.

His face flushed green, "Mother, I can't…"

She was having none of that. "**Tell** me. How do you know?"

He might be a Starfleet cadet, he might have defied his father and engineered his escape from Vulcan, but he was still enough her child that when she spoke to him in the emphatic mode, mother to child, he lowered his gaze and obeyed her like the dutiful son he had been most of his life. "When I visited T'Pau, as a child, my shield control was not always …adequate." He looked at her, shamefaced, but resolute. "I inadvertently sensed her thoughts."

She considered this. "Oh, honey. You were only a child. Maybe you misinterpreted…"

He was shaking his head. "No. It happened on more than one occasion, and over an extended period of time. I am quite sure. And once I knew, well -" he gave her a look. "It was easy enough to look at clan records for that time. She was once considered a candidate for my – for Sarek's wife. It is **true**, Mother."

So that was the source for why T'Lean looked at her so hatefully. "Your father never told me that."

Spock's eyes widened. "I don't think **he** ever considered her so. Merely that she was considered a logical choice, by others."

Suddenly Amanda realized something. "She was the girl they packed onto the starship."

Spock didn't pretend to misunderstand. "She was no girl, mother. But…yes."

She met his eyes. "Why did you never say anything?"

His eyes widened. "What did it matter, before? **You** had no contact with her. And Fath – Sarek was certainly never going to reject you for **her**."

His absolute conviction of that rather astonished her. Even though she knew enough of the strength of her marriage bond that she had no doubts of Sarek's regard, she didn't have any illusions that her son thought her perfect enough to warrant such devotion, compared to a high born Vulcan woman. She'd always thought he was rather ashamed of his human mother. Shaking herself free of this old history, she concentrated on facts, "Nor should he in future. So what does it -"

"Mother, that is immaterial. What matters now that she is in your **home**." He looked at her, impatiently. "Send her back to T'Pau. Request another attendant, if you must. I will talk to my Grandmother if you think my influence, such as I have, is necessary. But get **rid** of her."

"I'll have to think about it. I mean, I don't want her here, and I've tried, but T'Pau has been so insistent I have help, that-"

"Mother, you are not **listening** to me. You have lived so long with Father you think all Vulcans as controlled as he."

Amanda's eyes widened, wondering who Spock had lived with the first 18 years of his life.

"Vulcans can be very…passionate," Spock continued. "They control those passions, some better than others. T'Lean has long dwelled on gratifying hers. She despises you. She seeks to humble you. Indeed, she would seek to **replace** you."

"Did she ever hurt you?"

He shook his head. "Not me. Other than thinking to become my stepmother."

"And where would I be?" Amanda asked, indignant.

"I think she meant you, at best, to be chattel under her." He eyed her. "It is an ancient - do you understand what that means?"

Amanda drew a sharp breath, but left it at a simple, "Yes."

"Then later, when I made it clear that I despised her. She thought only to get me out of the way if she succeeded. To send me off to school. Permanently. Things like that. She knew she could not get rid of me as heir. You, she had other intentions for. **Not** good ones. It is not healthy for you, or for her, to have her in your home."

"Do you really believe she hates me that much?"

For a moment he was quiet. Then he nodded. "Before I could shield fully against her, her thoughts intruded on mine several times. They were quite strong. This was no passing desire; she held it for years. I cannot believe she has reconciled. Now, especially. Your rise to your present status, and her assignment to you, must have increased her bitterness. It is **inappropriate** for T'Lean to have free run of your home."

Amanda hesitated, looking at her son. What he was saying seemed incongruous. Certainly T'Lean disliked her, but she was Vulcan. And her son had been just a child, a boy, who naturally was oversensitive where his human mother was concerned. He'd been dealing with negative opinions for years, but he would think the worst of any of which he telepathically eavesdropped. She herself had thought the worst of T'Lean's hostility, but that didn't mean the woman really meant her any harm. "I'll consider it."

Spock was exasperated. "You must not **consider**, Mother. You must get rid of her. Or you will force me to raise this issue with Grandmother."

She blinked, stunned at how much like his father he sounded, and appeared. A moment ago she had seen herself in him. Now, his manner, his tone, his sheer force of command was pure Sarek. How much her son was like **both** his parents. Perhaps Sarek saw the same. She hoped he did, see himself in his son, as well as his mother. But she had known that as well, and yet it took her son being away from her for a while, before she saw it even more clearly.

Spock glanced impatiently at something out of viewer range, and nodded curtly. Again looking exactly like his father when dealing with some assistant. He still could have the arrogant air of a Vulcan prince, even in a Starfleet cadet uniform. He moved to cut the connection. "I must go now. I will speak with you **or** with her again in a week. Perhaps both. I have several unused calls I can claim. And I consider this sufficient cause."

"Spock, wait -"

He shook his head, impatient, already having divorced her from his consideration. "I must go."

She was looking at a blank screen. "I love you," she said, softly to the Starfleet Chevron that replaced it, signaling the end of the call. "Darn her. I didn't even get a chance to say it. The first chance I get to talk to him in months, and we spend half of it on **that** bitch."

She flicked off the vidscreen with a vengeance.

_To be continued…_


	30. Chapter 30

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 30**

There were twice as many reporters outside the Academy that morning, but Amanda was ready for them this time. And most of the new ones were outworlder reporters, who weren't likely to trip her up with questions about Vulcan customs. They just wanted the human interest story.

She gave them what they wanted, downplaying it as much as possible, and estimated they'd be gone in a week. Nothing else was likely to happen to entice them to stay, thank goodness. **Then** maybe she could get rid of her Vulcan bodyguards. And the casually unobtrusive Federation ones, that eyed her as with that watchful air she remembered from her first acquaintance with the breed. Oh, yes, they'd guard her all right. But what they really thought of her made her wish they wouldn't.

When she came home that afternoon, she was thinking about Sascek tagging after her, about T'Rueth ensconced in her kitchen. About Spock's warnings about T'Lean.

Well, she couldn't do anything about Sascek, for the moment. She was stuck with guards until the press moved on. But Sarek had left the decision about the rest up to her, and she'd also come to the conclusion that if she weren't going to do all those chores, then she had an obligation to see to the running of her household. She wasn't a new bride, she wasn't unfamiliar with Vulcan. Nor was she a concubine or chattel, for that matter. She was supposed to be a clan leader. That **was** nonsense, but at least should be able to manage the staff she'd supposedly inherited, and if she couldn't, that said something too, about her true position in it. Something she had no intention of saying to herself. So.

T'Lean wasn't back yet, and she wasn't sure she quite believed her son about that. Not that Spock was really likely to exaggerate about anything, but he'd been young and an outcast himself, and he was unfamiliar with emotions. She was rather sure he'd just misinterpreted dislike for something worse.

But it was time she reached out, reached some understanding, with those who were. And just to prove something to herself, she would do it, hair unbound, dressed in the shift she was entitled to wear in private quarters with private servants. She was going to banish her chattel, send her back to the dark ages of Vulcan preReform history, where she belonged. And deal with the servants at the same time. Sarek had made it clear that with her own private servants that dress or undress, human or Vulcan, didn't matter. That being so, she wasn't going to let them intimidate her, or deny her husband, whom she loved more than her life, what she'd promised due to some outworlder sense of illogical propriety. She wasn't twenty any more, nor was she new to Vulcan, nor was she a chattel or an unrecognized wife. She might as well get used to assuming authority. They might as well realize who and what she was, regardless of what she had been. Probably they did, and it was she who was still struggling with the concept. But perhaps it would say something to herself, as well. Either way, she needed to do it.

She went up to change and take down her hair, and eyed the box on her dressing table. She ran a tentative finger across it, wondering how she could have missed it before. She looked at her bed table, and both frames were there. Of course they were. Of **course** they were. But dressed as she had as chattel, her hair unbound, it was too easy to forget. She sighed.

She finished brushing out her hair, and took a long look at herself in the mirror. It was hard to walk out the door of their suite in a house shift, her hair unbound, knowing there were others out there. It had been one thing when it was just she and Sarek. She'd had no qualms about this when it would have been just them. But she was self-conscious about it with others around. But it had to be easier to, knowing that…at least some of them…were coming to be friends. And Sarek had made it very clear, that her own bound servants didn't count. And given how pleased he'd been that she'd left her hair, even if inadvertently, unbound to breakfast with him, she wanted to please him anew. She would.

She came downstairs and resolutely entered the kitchen. It was also hard for her to accept, no matter what Sarek said, that it was no longer **her** kitchen. He was a typical male in that respect. Vulcan or human, men just didn't understand. She still regretted the loss of her kitchen. And she didn't regret for a moment the years it had been hers, just her and her husband and son, plus a hairy sehlat. But there was something to be said for this arrangement too. She stood inside the door, interrupting T'Rueth who was putting a meal before the burly Sascek. The teapot was on the table, T'Jar was sitting across from him and T'Rueth had a cup poured for herself too. Quite the cozy little group. No, it was no longer her kitchen. She was the outsider here now. And the Vulcan staff was **in**. Again. As resolute as she'd been a moment before, now she felt out of place.

Yet T'Rueth turned to her respectfully and her look was kind. "I was just about to have T'Jar serve you tea, my lady. Would you like it on the terrace?"

"Oh. No." Amanda said faintly, thinking of what that would entail to T'Rueth. Even for her alone it would mean a fancily set table, a full tea service, half a dozen different dishes. And her taking it alone. When she really wanted company. Wanted to establish herself with them. "You don't need to go to all that trouble. And you're just all sitting down to tea yourselves."

"It is not trouble, my lady." T'Rueth seemed astonished at that.

Amanda shook her head. "It isn't necessary. Truthfully, I'd really rather just have it here with you…if you don't mind."

The three Vulcans glanced among themselves, and then without a word, T'Rueth looked to T'Jar, who set a place for her. T'Rueth poured a cup for her, and Sascek pushed the plate of what looked like shortbread to the center of the table.

She took a sip of tea and glanced around the table. They were all looking at her as if they'd never seen a human before. "I really don't bite."

T'Jar made a strangled sound and T'Rueth frowned the girl into silence. "Of course not, my lady."

Amanda half smiled at T'Jar. Remembering what a temper she'd been in when T'Jar had first seen her, the girl was probably half scared to death of her. And she was very young, not much older than Spock.

"I apologize, if I've been less than civil, at times. She looked from T'Jar to Sascek, and forced herself to meet his eyes. "Some of this is a little new to me."

"There is nothing to apologize for, my lady. We have come to serve."

Amanda drew a deep breath. "Yes. Well. About that. I was wondering if you could just call me Amanda. I'd rather not go by titles in my own home."

"It is most improper, my lady," said T'Rueth, giving her the same kind of reproving look T'Pau gave her for gulping tea. Then it softened. "But…as my lady wishes."

"Amanda," she corrected, and held out her cup.

For a moment, T'Rueth hesitated over the heresy of saying it, and then she ventured, "My lady…Amanda."

T'Jar, with a shy look, poured her more tea. "Lady Amanda." Sascek rumbled something that could be construed as the same.

Amanda half sighed, half laughed, wondering how it was possible to be a planetary ruler - at least by marriage - and **still **not be able to get anyone at all to call you by your right name. But she supposed it was a start. Or a compromise. She'd had twenty years of experience with those on Vulcan.

She took the cup back, and took a shortbread for good measure – awfully good, if not like her own. T'Rueth had experimented with some Vulcan spices as well as what tasted like lavender and thyme, and the result was indescribable - and shared afternoon tea with her new household staff.

Tea finished, she left T'Rueth busy with dinner preparations, after a consultation about menus. More than superfluous there, she went off to her study. Sarek was working late, and she'd told T'Rueth they'd dine when he came home. She happily ensconced herself in work, thinking it was rather nice not to have to worry about fixing dinner.

She should have availed herself of Palace servants years ago.

_To be continued…_


	31. Chapter 31

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 31**

Amanda worked contentedly until she needed a computer reference and turned to her terminal. And then to her immense surprise the computer did not rise to her voice. Or to her fingers.

She tried it again. And it still did not work.

A cold chill crept through her. This was impossible. Vulcan failsafes simply didn't …fail. Not by accident. But if not by accident…

Like the gate, not opening to her hand.

She moaned softly and rose from the desk as if confronted with a poisonous viper, her hand to her mouth. Backed into the security of her bedroom. And was confronted with the image of a chattel in the mirror, dressed in only a house shift, her hair unbound. But impossible to believe, no ribbon hung on the mirror. There was no box of clasps on the dressing table. Her gaze whirled to her bed table, to the security of two frames there. Only this time, there was only one. Only one. Only One. One.

Her eyes widened in shock.

She went over to the table, looked over it, under it, ran her hands over it as if she were blind.

Only one.

"No!" she cried. Not so much in terror of being chattel again. She didn't believe that, she **didn't**. But in terror of what was happening. Happening to her. Something she didn't understand at all.

She ran out of the room, out of the suite, pell mell down the hall, hair flying behind her. Ran through the house, blindly, thinking of the gate, the gate that she had to get through, to prove that she could get through it, that ultimate symbol. Surely it wouldn't, couldn't be locked against her. And if it was. Oh, if it was. Flying blindly around a corner, she literally collided into Sarek coming out of his office, apparently back from Council.

"Amanda?" Sarek grabbed her shoulders as she bounced off him, saving her from falling hard down to the stone tiles in Vulcan's unforgiving heavy gravity. And gave her a puzzled look. "T'Rueth has dinner prepared, but there is certainly no need to **run**. I was coming for you—"

Amanda drew up, got hold of herself, trying to steady her breathing. It had been years since she had felt lightheaded, short of breath, but now it was as if she were new to Vulcan, unacclimated, and she couldn't get enough air in her lungs. She stood there before him, her shoulders rising and falling, unable to get enough breath even to talk, perspiration running between her breasts, her long hair clinging to her limbs.

"Amanda?" Sarek frowned, staring down at her. "Are you quite all right?"

"I-" she tried to calm herself. Gulping for air. "I-" She stammered. She had breath now, if barely, but she couldn't seem to think, or say, anything else… Sarek looked at her puzzled but patient. Just seeing that look in his eye, the calm light of sanity, feeling his hands on her, gentle, supporting, made what she'd been feeling even more incongruous.

"Amanda?" Sarek drew her clinging hair away from her damp limbs, and tipped her face up to his. "What is it?"

She closed her eyes tightly, fighting for calm. And lost the fight as Sarek frowned at what he saw in her face, what he felt reverberating across the bond, and drew her to him. She kept herself from tears, but she buried her face against his shoulder, trembling uncontrollably. And over his shoulder, she was further embarrassed to see T'Lean, coming from the opposite direction.

T'Lean looked self satisfied, as if all her expectations of undisciplined humans were fulfilled.

"Amanda, " Sarek followed her gaze to T'Lean, who was hanging on them, as if drinking in Amanda's distress. Her frowned at the Vulcan woman. "Leave us."

T'Lean drew herself up. Few dared to challenge Sarek when he wore that expression, spoke in that tone, but T'Lean felt invincible. "Is my Lady ill? Or is this …emotionalism…normal…for her?"

"T'Lean." Sarek's voice got the edge that meant business, the emphatic mode that from underlings required instant obedience. "**Leave** us."

Not even she dared to press him further. The Vulcan woman swept past.

"Amanda," Sarek drew her back a little, looked down at her. "What is it?" She just shook her head. He picked her up, took her into his office, sat her down against him and held her for uncounted minutes.

She struggled for calm and looked up at her husband. Her controlled, empirical, logical husband. How could she tell him what she was experiencing? The total **illogic** of what was happening to her. He'd never believe it. Sitting in his prosaic office, **she** didn't believe it. She gulped back her unshed tears, calmed her shaky breathing. She'd just…have to show him.

She drew back and rose, took his hand in hers, tugged him to his feet. "Come with me."

They walked, hand in hand up the stairs. He followed her to their suite. She ignored her study and brought him into their bedroom.

"Amanda?" he questioned. "This is not the-"

"No. Wait." She turned to her dressing table. And drew a sharp breath. The box of clasps squatted there once again. She turned to her bed table. Where sat two frames. "No!" She turned to him. "They weren't there!"

"What?"

She gulped again, ran into her study. Sarek followed her. Her computer hummed. On. Up. She moaned, a soft noise in her throat. And put her face in her hands. "Oh, please. Please."

Sarek came up behind her. Looked with puzzlement at the computer screen, and turned, frowning, back to where she stood, hands covering her face as if to shut out reality. "Amanda. What is it? Did you have…have another bad dream?"

She looked up at him. "A bad dream." She turned and stared at her desk. Perhaps that was it. There was no other explanation. She had thought she had been working. But she had been overworking. Overwrought, as Sarek would say. She must have fallen asleep. **Dreamed** the whole thing. It had been on her mind, since her dream the other night. It was the only logical explanation that made sense. She clung to that thought, relieved.

"Yes. I had a bad dream."

Sarek drew a breath, relieved in turn. "You have been **over** working, my wife."

She looked sadly at her desk, at her work, the computer displaying the last article she'd written, when she'd been chattel. Perhaps that had dredged up the dream. "I suppose so."

Sarek drew an arm across her. She leaned back against him, her hand on the arm he wrapped around her, staring at her betraying computer and taking comfort from his steady strength while he continued, "You will not work more this evening. We will have dinner and then, my wife, then you will retire."

She nodded, subdued, still staring at the computer. How could she have been dreaming? It had been so real. So real. "I'm sorry I startled you."

"I am relieved it was only a bad dream."

"T'Lean must think I'm -"

"Don't concern yourself with what she thinks or doesn't think, my wife," Sarek said. The arms around her tightened. "You forget, mine is the only opinion that matters."

She half smiled, rubbed her cheek against his chin "I should have been a great fool not to love you, my husband."

Sarek drew an arm around her and walked her to the door. "We are neither of us fools, my wife. You are merely overtired. Perfectly understandable. It has been a very stressful week. Come, I believe T'Rueth has something special planned for this evening. You would enjoy another dinner on the terrace, would you not?" He gave her half a smile. "I promise, there will be no bugs. And I believe T'Rueth has been practicing her Terran cuisine. She has been running rampant, I believe the phrase goes, through your recipes and made another dessert to try and tempt you. Some sort of raspberry tart. I confess I am looking forward to that myself. She made one for the guard as a practice, and they have been talking of little else since. They have never tasted such before. It is fortunate they are bound in service and I have granted them a generous allotment of the same, because there might be an insurrection otherwise. They might take the fortress by storm, merely for possession of your raspberry plants. Indeed, I have had three requests for transfer from the palace, and I believe raspberries might well be a considerable recruitment incentive."

Amanda drew a shaky breath. He was practically chattering, trying to distract her with this light talk from her unpleasant thoughts. She made an effort to join him in it. "Perhaps they were here before I arrived, and like T'Lean, just want to come back in your service."

"Perhaps my wife might indulge me, now that she is here, and consent to seeing dinner served."

She smiled for real this time. "Yes. I'd enjoy it immensely."

He lowered his head, to murmur in her ear. "And after dinner, perhaps we might indulge in something else. Just to …help you sleep."

"Oh, really?" How could she dwell on silly dreams, however disturbing, when her reality was so sweet? She gave him an arch look. "Is **that** what you call it now?"

"It does help you sleep," Sarek said blithely. He nuzzled her neck, "And I do want you to sleep, tonight. To sleep very well. You need your rest. Therefore it is only logical -"

"You are wicked. You are awful. You are **shameless**." Amanda accused, laughing in truth now. She'd almost forgotten her panic of moments before, relegated it to nothing more than a bad dream, an unfortunate moment of sleep fuddled confusion. Sarek's strong arm around her, his warm hand in hers, his warm breath on her neck, banished all such nightmares.

"I am Vulcan," Sarek said, with the inherent dignity he seemed to have been born with, even discussing such matters, "and seek logical solutions at all times."

"I'll give you logic," Amanda threatened. But she wrapped her own arm around her husband's waist and hugged him hard, taking solace from his presence. She'd have no nightmares with him here.

"And here I always thought you preferred luck, my wife. And," he ran a finger down the bridge of her nose, off the tip, "wickedness."

She captured his hand in hers. "You are so right, my husband. I believe we are both going to get lucky, tonight."

"That **is** logic, Amanda."

And they went into dinner.

_To be continued…_


	32. Chapter 32

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 32**

T'Lean loaded the day's Council reports into Amanda's computer from her own compad. She was still thrilling to the sight of the human in such a state. Her actions had yielded a result that as a Vulcan she could not have foreseen, and left her determined to elicit more. She'd merely momentarily relocated Amanda's hair ornaments as a sort of subtle insult. She'd not realized that the human might take it otherwise.

And her second action, to take down her computer at an unauspicious time, and remove the clasps and also the second frame, had drawn a response she relished so much she wanted more. The sight of her rival, fleeing though the house, breathless, frightened, had given her more pleasure than she'd felt in years.

The human should not even be in this house, but if she was here, then this is how she should be. Driven to flee by the emotions that ruled her, like a panicked animal.

T'Lean could wish her gone in every respect. Powerless as she was in her current service, T'Lean had found not only a source of power, but a hold over her perceived rival.

And T'Lean had not failed to notice where the human had been running. Outdoors. Presumably to the gate that had confined her before, where she had once been found by T'Pau, unconscious, nearly dead.

If she could be so driven to run to that gate, to run outside of it, at **night**, and on a night when Sarek, perhaps was far from home, delayed at Council…. Then there was enough Vulcan wildlife to make short shrift of her. A suitable end for a human beast.

She had almost accomplished it this evening. If Sarek had not been here, if the human had run a bit faster, if he had not caught her, not come out of his office…Surely another opportunity would present itself. Some night when Sarek was **not** here to catch her. And if the human did so, it would be her own fault. She had come as a human to Vulcan, with her unruly, illogical emotions. She would be so foolish as to run in the desert at night against all logic. No Vulcan would do such a thing, regardless of the impetus. So it was no one's fault but the human's, if she met an untidy end.

She went down to the kitchen, to seek her own dinner, and descending the stairs stopped at the long windows overlooking the terrace below. And there sat Sarek and Amanda as if nothing had happened. The human smiling upon her husband.

T'Lean froze. A moment before Amanda had been panicked, driven, ready to run out into the desert, unknowing, unconsidering, like a mad thing. And there she sat, dining with her husband as if she had not a care in the world.

And there sat Sarek, taking his wife's hand in his, shamelessly holding it in a most improper gesture. Gazing at her, his meal forgotten, as if he wished to dine off her.

T'Lean watched in disbelief. She'd known Sarek all her life, and never had he shown any such passion, not to her, nor to any other potential Vulcan bondmate. Yes, passion was allowed in the marriage bond. Not even Vulcans could live with only logic to sustain them, at least not all the time. It was taught that marriage was the only suitable relationship where passion could rule. But this was beyond all belief. It was the human doing this to him. Contaminating him. Now that she was in their household, she could see that.

The sight left her even more resolved to see that human gone.

_To be continued…_


	33. Chapter 33

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 33**

After a pleasant dinner, and a pleasanter evening, Amanda did get a good night's sleep, and woke the next morning feeling much better. As she dressed, with the appropriate items on her dressing table, and the right number of frames on her bed table, she could only shake her head at her behavior from the night before. She must have been dreaming. She had been over-tired. It had to be that. She'd never been…fanciful.

Though she hated to admit it, maybe T'Pau was right. Maybe she **did** need to cut back on some of her classes. But part of her still resisted the notion. She would just … work less in the evening. Stop work after a few hours, do her best not to **over**do. She could still pull this off. Her confidence was shaken a little, but she still had faith. And where her faith wavered, Sarek had faith enough in her for both of them. And she wasn't about to let that faith down.

But that afternoon, after class, she went up to the media center, rather than working in her study. Perhaps here there'd be less connotations that might distress her. The door opened smoothly to her hand. As of course it would. She ignored the ghosts of memories of the last time she'd stood here, stepped resolutely past the stone flags where a chattel had cried upon her knees before this locked door and nearly let herself be broken.

Now that time seemed almost like a dream itself.

_I cannot get out, the starling said._

She shivered in memory, then shook her head in bemusement. Another person, another life.

And it hadn't broken her. She was all right now. She wasn't that person any more. Sarek was well again. And it was time – past time – for her to move on. Sarek – god bless Vulcan resilience – certainly seemed to have put it behind him. Time for her to follow him. All the way.

And she stepped through the door, ignoring the ghost of a chattel kneeling in tears. As if it had been a dream.

Once inside, the door closed behind her, shutting out the memories of tears and chattels. She shivered a little in the unnaturally cool air. This room held several collections. Her thirty thousand books, and Sarek's – or rather part of his family's collection of clan texts. Unlike her collection, he hadn't collected them all himself. Most of them were in the clan archives at Council Keep, some at the Palace, but there was still quite a collection here – five thousand years and more of Vulcan history. She wondered if those 5000 years of Vulcans rejected the arcane Terran company they now found themselves in.

Oddly enough the requirements to preserve both collections were largely the same – a cooler temperature and a carefully balanced constant humidity, not too dry, to crack precious bindings and not too damp, to mold or rot them. She snagged the sweater she always kept by the door, and shrugged into it. She hadn't changed out of teaching clothes into a shift, or she really would have frozen. Sarek could adjust his metabolism for working here, but she could not.

At one time, she used to frequent the library much more, because it had oddly enough, the most earth like of conditions in the house. And she spent a lot of time here, both because all her old familiar friends from Earth were here – her books – when she'd had few other associates on her new home world, and because it gave her a respite from the heat. For she refused to let Sarek air condition the house to more human levels. She'd wanted to acclimate. And she had, to the extent where now, the library was much too cool for her.

It wasn't as frigid as the Terran embassy, ruthlessly air-conditioned to Earth normal temperature and humidity – and she shivered every time she entered that building, could hardly endure it for long. But it was cold enough.

Even Sarek, with all his Vulcan controls, preferred to access the library computers and data nets from the terminal in his office. He only came up here to access specific clan texts, or to hold larger meetings that required the floor to ceiling vid screens that were in some of the conference rooms. There were plenty of climate controlled cubbys, but it wasn't good for her books to be subjected to rapid changes in temperature and humidity, so when she came to read her own collection, she bundled up.

Before settling down to work, she browsed through her part of the library, the stacks devoted to her books, picking one up here, one there, leafing through them. It didn't seem quite so difficult here as it did in her study. She'd yet to take her books off the shelves there. She'd do that soon. She would.

But this was a good beginning.

She picked up her well thumbed copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets, and like all good books, it opened to the favorite pages of its reader. Sonnet 29. She'd almost forgotten this. A solace, during some of her harder trials on Vulcan. Made outcast by T'Pau and regarded almost as a traitor in the enemy camp by some of the human diplomatic corps, she'd felt it had been particularly appropriate to her situation.

"When in disgrace with fortune, and men's eyes

I all alone do weep my outcast state.

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries

And look upon myself and curse my fate.

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope

Featured like him, like him with friends possess

Desiring this man's art and that man's scope

With what I most enjoy contented least

Yet

In these thoughts myself almost despising

Happily I think on thee

For thy sweet love remembereth such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my fate with kings"

She read it again, and drew a shaky breath, closing the book. Enough. She was no longer outcast in her husband's society. Far rather the opposite, and while adjusting to that was almost as hard as getting used to her former outcast state, it was only almost.

Not that she wouldn't adjust to being a clan leader, as incongruous as that seemed. She was human. Infinitely adaptable. As she had long proven. And she still had her love. As for her fate, outcast or clan leader, chattel or honored wife, she could and **had** changed her fate, sometimes with dizzying speed, from one to the other. But her love she had through all of it. And she had it still.

She shelved the book, carefully. Sonnet 29 had been a solace to her over the years. But she didn't need it any more.

A happy thought.

She settled down to work in the modern section of the media center and was soon accessing the subspace nets for a real time discussion of her latest articles with the Federation of Science editors. Two of them were on Earth, but one of them was on Rigel, and on a different time zone. He had just woken up and came sleepily to the discussion, plying himself with the Rigellian xrad that was their form of coffee. She'd tasted it, once, at a conference on Rigel, just to be polite.

Even years later she shuddered in remembered memory every time she watched him take a gulp.

She'd finished the discussion. They'd worked out publication dates, and she had turned back to the research review that had been consuming her since she had gone back to teaching. Sarek had been right, it wasn't quite as bad as she'd thought. She'd gotten behind before, attending diplomatic conferences, and once she brushed off her rusty speed-reading skills, her rusty reading-anything-at-all skills, she resolutely plowed through the journals in her field.

Sarek had no idea how embarrassing it was for her not to be up on the current research in her field, to have her students more aware than she. The sooner she rectified that, the better.

She was concentrating so deeply, she didn't notice the Vulcan standing respectfully just out of her field of vision. Until T'Jar cleared her throat lightly.

Amanda looked up.

"I apologize for disturbing you, my lady."

Amanda blinked, realizing she might as well get used to the title. She wasn't about to correct this charming girl.

"I apologize as well for being so undistractable." She hadn't responded to the light extending of aura that was the standard Vulcan request for recognition.

"It is of no consequence. T'Rueth asks would you have tea, my lady?"

"Is it that late?"Amanda looked at her watch, ignoring T'Jar's dumbfounded expression. Vulcans unused to humans forgot they had no timesense to speak of. It always astounded them to see her consult a chronometer to get the time. "Is Sarek home yet?"

"Not yet, my lady."

"The way things are going on the Federation front, he probably will be lucky to be home for dinner."

"_Lucky_, my lady?"

Amanda smiled. She and Sarek had fallen into a terrible linguistic shorthand over the years, a mix of Vulcanur and English both, sometimes one, sometimes the other, or either one interspersed with untranslatable terms from both their languages. And a myriad of others they'd picked up over the years, at one diplomatic function or another. And _luck_ was not translated in modern Vulcanur. Like most of the emotional terms. "_Luck_. A fortuitous combination of events."

"Indeed, my lady." T'Jar was clearly of a one track mind and unimpressed by luck. "Would you like me to bring you tea?"

"No. We don't bring anything of that sort here." Amanda half smiled, "The library is a spill free zone."

The girl just drew together her puzzled brows. Like many Vulcan girls, Amanda had never seen her make a graceless move. She had probably never spilled anything in her life.

Amanda thought of her poor son. Perhaps it was a part of his human heritage, or perhaps just the result of growing too fast from a boy who'd always been a little on the small side – he'd always been a fussy eater - to a gangly youth, who might well end up taller than his father. But her son had knocked over more than a few things. And so for that matter had she.

Sarek, of course, as the sole full Vulcan, had found his role in their family often entailed catching the overturned milk, as it were, before it could spill. And he had a fast hand, but he wasn't always there. Or always fast enough.

She sighed at the thought that it too often seemed to be her job to spill things, and cut herself and trip herself up in a myriad of ways, and Sarek's to catch her. There were times when she wondered what her husband really **did **see in her that had made him want to marry her.

Of course, if she didn't take the _vrie_ as her fault, and it seemed he'd been suffering from it since his last _Pon Far_, then **she** had caught **him** this last time, in a rather dramatic way. Perhaps that made up for some of it. But she still hadn't figured out what he'd seen in her, to marry her and after twenty years she wasn't likely to now. Meanwhile T'Jar was waiting.

"No, thank you, T'Jar."

The girl bowed her head. "As my lady wishes. I regret disturbing you." She hesitated, then turned back. "T'Rueth **has** made a dish she wishes you to sample before making it for the evening meal, for Sarek."

"Haven't the guard already devoured it? That ought to be testament enough." Amanda teased.

"She saved some," T'Jar said primly, refusing to be drawn. "And she wishes a Ter - **your **opinion, as she could not find all the ingredients, and made substitutions. She does not wish Sarek to be displeased with her rendition."

Amanda sighed. As if Sarek would. She didn't have to worry about him regaining the weight he'd lost in _vrie_. T'Rueth was an absolute genius in the kitchen, and she could already see some of the hollows in his face filling in. She wondered if he'd lose that little gray streak he'd gotten in his hair. She rather hoped not, it made him look even more distinguished. She drew a deep breath, and pulled her thoughts off her husband. Given that gray streak, and she'd developed a strand or two herself in the last six months, perhaps it was past time she and Sarek stopped behaving like a couple of adolescents. But she rather hoped they wouldn't. "Very well. I will be down directly."

"Thank you, my lady."

Amanda flicked off her computer. She could only hope she wasn't going to gain weight from T'Rueth's attentions.

Tea finished, and T'Rueth's cooking praised, Amanda was back in the media center, striving to catch up on recent research when T'Lean appeared.

Amanda sat back and regarded her, remembering Spock's warnings. The woman seemed the epitome of a controlled Vulcan, even though there was nothing calm or placid in her manner. But she was controlled. Strong emotion, or something else? Amanda didn't know.

T'Lean was of Sarek's clan, in the direct line. T'Pau had some emotions, Amanda knew. She'd seen her mother-in-law's flashing eyes and heard her caustic words. Sarek was controlled most of the time, but she well knew his slips. Was it possible that behind T'Lean's narrowed eyes and tight lips was a measure of that Vulcan passion that plagued Surak's direct line? Or was she just disapproving?

"I have the Council summaries," T'Lean said, in a clipped tone. "Do you wish them directly, or should I import them into your computer database?"

No _my lady_, Amanda noted. The Vulcan woman avoided the honorary titles as much as possible.

"Just import them, thank you, T'Lean."

"Thanks are illogical. It is merely my duty." Her manner said plain as day that **only** duty kept her here.

Still, Amanda looked hopefully at T'Lean. She was of Sarek's clan. She knew him, had long known him. She was Vulcan, and a woman. Having T'Rueth, another Vulcan woman in the house, had turned out to be …nice, in spite of the sacrifice of her kitchen. But T'Rueth was a cook, not of Sarek's background. And T'Jar was just a girl.

Amanda let herself wonder what it would be like to have a woman, highly placed in Sarek's society, knowledgeable of Sarek's profession, his traditions, his duties, with whom she could talk. Could ask questions of, share confidences with. Isn't that what an advisor was for? There were times when she was lost at sea in her husband's culture and **needed** someone to advise her. Wasn't that what T'Lean was for?

T'Pau had innumerable councilors as matriarch. She herself was supposed to be a clan leader now, and she was woefully ignorant of those duties. Who needed an advisor better than she? And while she'd become close to T'Pau, T'Pau was her mother-in-law, the matriarch of all Vulcan, and she was a daughter, bound in obedience, at least as far as that went. It wasn't a relationship that inherently inspired confidences. She needed someone **other** than T'Pau to advise her. And perhaps, if T'Lean got to know her, if she realized that she was willing to adhere to Vulcan traditions as far as that went, some of the woman's disapproval would fade.

"I'm sorry," Amanda said. "I know they are. But I appreciate your efforts regardless."

Still the stony cold gaze, no unbending. "It would be more expeditious for me to have full access, so that I can set up a direct link from Council."

"Of course." Amanda gave her the codes. Her console beeped, signaling a priority message. She ignored it. This was more important, something she'd been wanting to say. Something she'd finally found the opportunity to say.

"T'Lean, I know you have disapproved of me in the past. But things have changed, between T'Pau and myself. I'm not sure how much of your disapproval stemmed from hers. But you are here now. And I have to believe you're here at least in part willingly. And since we have to work together, I hope we can do so amiably."

"I expect to be efficient in that service."

Amanda drew a breath. "I meant that I hope we can be friends, T'Lean."

"Friends?"

"Yes," Amanda said firmly. "Friends. Amiable associates."

T'Jar popped in, innocent as sunshine. "You have a priority subspace call, my lady. It was rerouted to the Academy when you did not answer, but they routed it here. I have accepted it for you. Will you take it?"

Amanda let out an exasperated breath. "Is it from the Harvard Press?"

"It is from Starfleet, my lady."

Amanda whipped around. "I'll take it. Thank you, T'Jar." She looked at T'Lean, "Excuse me."

The Vulcan woman turned, her back as stiff as ever.

Amanda sighed, signaled for connect and smiled at her son, though her smile was a little strained. "Hello, Spock. And let me tell you that I love you. You cut me off before I could, the last time."

"Mother, have you done what I asked?"

"What you asked?" Amanda frowned, puzzled.

"Removing T'Lean from your household."

Amanda thought back through the more recent troubling events to that call. "Well, not quite."

"Not quite? What exactly does that mean?"

Amanda sighed. "Darling, you've hardly given me time. And I know that she doesn't like me. But I've been trying to make friends with her. With **all** the Vulcan staff. I can't say I've been too much of a success with T'Lean but-"

"Make friends?" Spock shook his head. "You were not listening to me," he said. "You did not heed my words."

"I **did**."

"You certainly have not take them seriously."

Amanda sighed. "I do. But I'm trying to work things out with her."

"There are some things that diplomacy cannot address. And you are not the diplomat in the family."

"Thank you very much," Amanda said with cold injury. Not that Spock took any regard of it.

"Did you at least discuss this with Sarek?" he persisted.

She looked shamefaced. "No. Honey, I've had …other concerns."

"This **should** be a valid concern." He looked at her, frustrated. "I do not know how to make you understand. You are so…human, Mother."

"I can't change that."

Spock let out a deep breath. "Obviously not. It seems I must go elsewhere with my concerns."

"Spock-"

"Take care, Mother. Take **good** care." His eyes burned into hers. "Stay with Sarek as much as you can. Do not be alone with her."

"With T'Lean? Spock, she has never been friendly, but that's ridiculous."

"Indeed." His eyes darkened at this betrayal, and for a moment, he lowered his gaze.

"I'm sorry. I'll reconsider, Spock. And I'll see what I can do about getting her reassigned elsewhere. She's not pleasant to have around anyway."

His mouth set. "I wish I could trust you, but I will take actions of my own in that regard."

"What actions?"

Spock shook his head. "Take care, mother."

And she was left frustrated, staring at a Starfleet chevron once again.

_To be continued…_


	34. Chapter 34

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 34**

After the successful Council meeting, T'Pau had been savoring the measure of her success, and the fruits of her labors. Her son had regained his health, her daughter had been well established in society and in household, her son's heir was out from under his father's too protecting guidance, and learning much of the Federation with whom he would one day be forced to negotiate. She allowed herself a measure of justly earned contentment.

Unfortunately but perhaps not surprisingly, given her volatile family, her contentment as not to last long. As she savored a brew from her latest crop of tea, an attendant came with a message.

"There is a subspace call from your heir, Matriarch."

T'Pau was surprised enough that she allowed her eyes to widen slightly, before going to take it.

She preferred doing business on her terrace, but she had a modern office with all the latest communication links. She signaled acceptance of the call.

Spock appeared on the screen. "Grandmother," he inclined his head in respect.

"Spock." She looked him over. He seemed unchanged by his months in Starfleet, outside of the barbarically colored uniform. "Thee have some need?"

"Not for myself. I have called about another matter."

T'Pau flicked a brow, curious in spite of herself. "I listen."

"It concerns T'Lean," Spock said intensely. "You must call her back from my mother's service."

"How so?"

"She will not serve my mother well."

"T'Amanda has not raised such a concern to me," T'Pau countered.

"My mother has a human fault, in often thinking the best of people. In her case, with T'Lean, it is a dangerous one."

T'Pau sat back, eyebrows raised in astonishment. "Thee believes T'Lean …dangerous…to her?"

"Perhaps. I cannot say so with absolute certainty. However, I do know she has had no true desire to serve her well. Indeed, in the past, she has wished to serve her **ill**. I believe that is enough of a disqualification for her presence there now."

"And how does thee know this?" T'Pau said skeptically.

Spock raised his chin, refusing to be shamed by his inadvertent knowledge. "My shielding was, at times, erratic. It was a regrettable breach of privacy, but then she also failed to shield her thoughts, and I was a child."

"Thee are a child still," T'Pau noted.

"That does not invalidate truth."

T'Pau considered this. "I will not deny that I have had my own evidence that T'Lean has had little regard for T'Amanda. But even if I acknowledge that truth, thee has no knowledge if she has changed in that regard. Her beliefs I also once shared. Perhaps I influenced them. I have changed. She may have as well. In any event, she has professed to serve her well."

"Has she pledged to my mother? Been formally sealed?"

T'Pau was surprised Spock even knew of those ancient ceremonies. "No. So far as I know, she has not."

"Then her service is not bound. T'Pau, you did not share the beliefs T'Lean once had. I know. I perceived them. She could not have changed that much."

T'Pau raised a brow at that. Remembering the incident of months ago. "Thee have contacted me by subspace to tell me of this. Thee must consider it a serious concern. But thee are…fond…of thy mother. Perhaps it colors thy judgment."

"No. It does not."

T'Pau regarded him steadily. "Thee are **quite** sure."

"Yes."

"Thee believes her to be in some …serious disadvantage? Some danger?"

"I calculate the probability at 47.68 percent. Too high to risk in these circumstances. Assign another attendant to my mother, if one is required."

T'Pau sighed. "That is high. I have developed a regard for thy mother, child. She has become…quite precious to me. Irreplaceable, in fact."

Spock's gaze narrowed. "Then act."

"I will take such steps as I consider appropriate."

Spock skewered her with a look. "You will remove her."

"Leave it in my hands, child." T'Pau said with a touch of asperity. "I must think on this before I decide a course of action."

Spock tilted his head. "Do not think too long, Grandmother."

"And here I thought thee always lowered thy head like a chastened child when spoken to in the emphatic mode."

"I sometimes do." Spock met her eyes evenly, with cool self posession. "And sometimes I do not."

"So I see."

"I am what I am, Grandmother. And I **am** certain of this. Do not require me to return to Vulcan to see to it myself. I will if I must."

"Thee believes as strongly as that? Very well." T'Pau regarded her heir. "I am not displeased that thee has contacted me in this regard. Do not be concerned for her. I will have her carefully guarded."

Spock raised a brow at this development. "Mother will not like that."

"In this, that matters not to me."

Spock raised a skeptical brow. "Perhaps you do not really know my mother. She is not always what she seems. If she does not like something, she can be…recalcitrant."

"Less so than her husband and son. Perhaps I know her better than you believe, child," T'Pau replied, half amused. "She is presently being carefully guarded, due to the attentions of the outworlder press. Until this is resolved, that will continue."

"She is being guarded **within** the Fortress as well as without?" Spock persisted.

T'Pau clicked her tongue. "Trust that her welfare is a primary concern of mine and I will act appropriately on this concern." When Spock regarded her, unmoved, she added, "Enough. Thee are as stubborn as thy Father. I am well able to care for my family, and have been doing so for many years **without** your sage and wise council, impertinent child. Accept that I take it now, and do not require further advice. Go back to thy Starfleet studies. Surely thee have enough to deal with of outworlder concerns. For now, leave Vulcan to me."

Spock studied her for a moment. Then he lowered his head, and spoke with studied elaborateness, playing up the dutiful heir with a vengeance. "Very well, Grandmother. I will trust you in this. As you direct." He looked up. "And…I thank you."

T'Pau sniffed in amusement, and cut the connection. Even she could see his mother in the boy. But unlike the boy's father, it did not necessarily displease her.

_To be continued…_


	35. Chapter 35

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 35**

Sarek strode down the Palace gardens, pondering why he'd been so summoned. When he arrived at T'Pau's terrace Court, he hesitated only briefly before kneeling as custom demanded, even of him, in such situations. His mother so rarely directed him to attend her that he was unused to such formality. Sitting across from her, he accepted tea, and flicked an inquiring brow.

"You want something of me?"

T'Pau tilted her head, evaluating her son's control. "I have spoken to your child."

Sarek's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"Thee do not intend even to ask after him?" T'Pau prodded. "Or of why he contacted me?"

"No."

"Sarek, he is **not** an unworthy child."

Sarek was unmoved. "He is doing unworthy things. His very disobedience is in itself unworthy. Unlike you, or his mother, I will not countenance **or** succor him while he is engaged in such doings, or otherwise enable him to continue in such a faulty course. Nor hear of him until he repents his doings, and returns to his proper place. If he has need of family, then he must return to his role within that family and accept the guidance given to a child. If that is your reason for summoning me, to plead for such leniency, it is to no purpose. I will not stay to hear."

T'Pau flicked a brow. "Not even if I command?"

Sarek drew out an exasperated breath. "T'Pau, it has been many years since **you** could speak to me as if I were a child. I am long past being so addressed. My son is not. He is – or was – my own to so command. But for your interference, he might be here still."

"And if I command as Matriarch?"

Sarek looked grim and immovable. "I have already yielded as much to that command as I will in this regard. The boy is still your heir, even though I no longer regard him as mine. Be satisfied with that. Leave it thus."

"Thee are a stubborn child."

Sarek rose, not about to be treated as a child at his age. "Good day, T'Pau."

"I have else of which to speak."

Sarek settled back, frowning slightly. "Given I have made my views plain on this matter before, I didn't believe you would call me here only for that."

"And thee are still stubborn enough to refuse to reconsider."

"I have no need to reconsider. I am right."

T'Pau flicked a brow in exasperation at this predictable conviction. "How does Sascek serve?"

Sarek tilted his head, eyes a bit wide at this abrupt change of subject. "As he has always. I have no fault with his service. Have you duties for him in the palace? Amanda would be only too pleased to release him."

"He does not displease her?"

"It is not Sascek which displeases her," Sarek explained, "but the fact of guards. She has never liked them, from our earliest acquaintance, on Terra. Fortunately the press is lessening, and nothing of concern has been turned up by Federation intelligence at this point. Nor has a visa review revealed anything of concern in new arrivals. I am untroubled on that score. He could be returned to your service."

"That is not my desire."

"What then?"

"It is my wish that Sascek continue to guard her, very well. Both without and within the Fortress."

Sarek eyed his mother curiously. "Why?"

"Perhaps my reasons are my own."

"I will not accept that. Amanda is my wife."

"She is also a child of my house."

"She is not a child. She is human. The standards are inapplicable in her case."

"That is debatable. They could also be said to be inapplicable to Spock, but you insist on applying them. If you can so hold Spock, I can so hold T'Amanda. And will, in this instance, if necessary. I have recognized her as a daughter. By our standards, she is thus a child of mine." T'Pau met his eyes evenly. "My child, Sarek. And I will hold her thus."

Sarek's eyes narrowed at this tacit threat. If T'Pau did intend to hold Amanda to the same standards as a Vulcan daughter of her age, it meant she could command her obedience in a number of ways. "I am not holding Spock to anything. I have released him from all considerations."

"Indeed. And in so doing you are punishing him for his disobedience. If you can hold Spock so uncompromisingly to those standards, or reject him for such a small disobedience, I can hold T'Amanda to my standards of obedience. And treat her accordingly. And will, if I must."

Sarek's visage darkened. It was a real threat; T'Pau could make his wife's life unpleasant in a number of ways. "Is that why you so recognized her? As leverage for Spock?"

"I recognized her because she is my son's wife, and such recognition was long overdue. Nevertheless, she is my daughter, my child, my heir. I have rights over her, and these rights I can and will demand, if necessary. That is for thee to decide."

Sarek looked vexed. "To what purpose? If not for Spock then why? I see no need for her to be so guarded."

"Need is relative. She is precious to thee. Is she not worth an extra effort?"

"She is of inestimable worth, but that matters little if the effort is pointless. And she would dislike it. It would make her unhappy. And as she is human, her happiness is important to her, and thus of concern to me. Nor would I care for it. I have become…unaccustomed…to such attendants in my private quarters."

"Yet there may be need," T'Pau said.

"How so?"

"T'Lean."

Sarek gave his mother a sharp look. "What do you know?"

"Nothing definite. Except that for many years, she was ill disposed to her. Even when T'Amanda was in the Palace, I had evidence of such. I believed it of the past. I know not of her disposition now. But I have concerns."

Sarek studied her, and then said, deducing the two halves of this conversation, "From Spock? How can he know anything of this?"

"He knows little to nothing of the past six months," T'Pau assured Sarek. "Only that T'Amanda was formally recognized in Council and T'Lean attends her."

"What has he told you?"

"Apparently the child sensed something of T'Lean's true disposition."

Sarek appeared unimpressed. "The boy's psi control has always been erratic. I would dismiss such concerns."

"He was quite emphatic. And as I have said, I have had my own evidence of her views in this regard. But I had chosen to believe they were from my own influence, not of hers. That may not be so."

"Then I will remove T'Lean. It is a simple solution."

"No. Let her stay. But let T'Amanda be guarded."

Sarek frowned. "For what purpose?"

"I will not succor a viper to my breast. And if I remove her from T'Amanda's service to the Palace, that is all I would do. If T'Lean acts against our clan wishes, then she must be removed from the clan. But I cannot do so without proof. She is too highly placed, has been for too long. And for such a reason as this, with T'Amanda so newly recognized? It would not be politic. I would not have my daughter suffer the repercussions of such an impolitic removal. It would be a setback to all I have so far accomplished in that regard. If T'Lean is a traitor to our clan, she must be caught."

Sarek was silent a moment. "I am not …sanguine…about keeping T'Lean in my home if such is the case."

"Will it tax your control?"

Sarek looked impatient. "My control is well enough. Do not concern yourself with it."

"It is a logical question. She is thy bondmate and there is some danger to T'Amanda, and thus to thee."

"My control is equal to it."

"Will T'Amanda yield to it?"

Sarek was silent a moment, seriously considering that. "You do not wish her to know of the reasons?"

T'Pau looked impatient. "She has enough with which to contend. Her release, her teachings, this matter with the press, Council. Nor is it her doing or her business This is **my** concern. It is your concern. T'Lean should not be her concern. This is a Vulcan matter, a clan matter."

"If T'Lean means her ill, it is **her** concern as well," Sarek pointed out. "And she is of the clan now."

"She is only a child. This problem began long before she was of the clan. She has enough with which to contend. She is human. She shields well enough, but at times, like any human, too often she wears her thoughts on her face. She would betray them to T'Lean and nothing would avail."

"She can be discrete, where there is need," Sarek argued.

"That I well know, but it is unnecessary at this point. Tell her there are security concerns – she is already being guarded for that reason. And it is the truth. This **is** a security concern. Leave it thus."

"T'Pau, she is **human**, not unintelligent, nor a child. She **knows** there are none within the Fortress."

"Then make it a command. She will yield to you if she believes she must."

Sarek's brows rose to his bangs. "You wish her to doubt my control? Now, of all times?"

T'Pau was impatient. "I wish to remove T'Lean from any position of influence if there is any question that is a concern. You know the child," T'Pau caught herself, " – your wife - best. I leave it up to you to devise the reason to require her to yield to my demands."

"How thoughtful of you." Sarek said dryly.

"You will do it?"

Sarek drew a breath. "It seems that I must."

"It will not be for long, Sarek. Either T'Lean is a subversive element, or she is not."

"It will be too long for Amanda in any event."

"Length of days is the ultimate purpose of this for her. And for you with her. This must be done to ensure that."

Sarek eyes widened with slow surmise. "He really believes…?"

T'Pau raised a brow. "Ask him. If you will."

Sarek gave the barest shake of his head at the suggestion he speak with his son. Or an inadvertent shiver. It would have been difficult to tell the difference. After a moment, he spoke as if she had not made the suggestion. "Very well, T'Pau. I will yield to the necessity."

T'Pau's eyes glittered dangerously. "Have Sascek guard her **well**, my son. This viper, if viper she be, I will have **caught**."

_To be continued…_


	36. Chapter 36

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 36**

Sarek spent the evening pondering T'Pau's words. And watching his wife. His innocent wife. She was innocent. Innocent of vice, of guile, of all the negative and troublesome emotions that their marriage had brought to her. If not for him, she would not be in a position where she had to be protected outside and inside Fortress walls. He had brought her to this, and he did not forgive himself for it. Even as he tried to dismiss those thoughts as dangerous, they plagued him.

Even to bed.

He found Amanda in her study, and watched her for a moment, thinking again, how much he desired her. She was so deeply entranced in her work she did not hear or sense him, even when he extended his aura to intrude on her consciousness.

He finally crossed to her, and she looked up, and smiled at him as he settled down next to her. He put an arm around her waist, and bent down to kiss her. First lightly, then deeply. She put her arms around his neck and parted her lips to his.

A surge of pure desire, washed over him, nearly overtook him and he froze, fighting for control, and surprised to discover it more difficult than he expected. Obviously the threat to her safety had affected him more than he had anticipated. He drew back, controlling his breathing, using that to help control his emotions, considering this flaw in his control, having long used the gauge of his desire both as an indicator for when he would suffer another _Pon Far_, and as a measure of his ability to get through it safely. And of the effectiveness of their lessons. When he regained control, he looked down at his wife regretfully. They had been "making love", as Amanda called it, daily and sometimes several times a day. Since he had restored her to bondmate status, they had had no lessons. And he had practiced no control. He had used to consider these lessons mostly for his wife's benefit, but the last six months had taught him how fragile was his own control, and how easily lost. After months of strict control, he had considered they had some margin of safety, but clearly he was encroaching on it. He sighed and said regretfully. "I believe it is time for a lesson, my wife."

She drew up and looked at him uncertainly. He could see the muscles move in her throat as she swallowed. "Did I…did I do something wrong?"

That surprised him. "No. Of course not. But it was been some weeks since we have practiced any control. And I feel the need for it."

"But you're all right?"

"I am quite well," he reassured her. And at her uncertain look added, "Amanda, you know it is normal for us to intermix lessons and lovemaking. While I have enjoyed this recent interlude, you are well aware – certainly after the last six months – that this is a necessary practice." He looked at her. "Part of the normal life we must resume, if you will."

"Yes, of course," she murmured, but she seemed subdued. Of course she had never been enthusiastic about lessons. It could merely be disappointment. He sighed silently, disappointed himself, but there was no help for it. He was Vulcan, and she was his wife, and while he might himself wish to be free of some aspects of his biology, he had no choice but to submit to them. Nor, by default, did she. The only thing he could do was attempt to see her safely through them.

Amazing that he actually felt some regret – not at his wife's humanity, but at his own lack of it. For if he were human, there would be no need for lessons. No specter of _Pon Far_ for which to prepare. There would have been no _vrie_. They would never have to live in fear of the violence that could accompany a _Time_. He could love her, as a human, as he never could as a Vulcan.

Even to consider such a life was amazing. How idyllic a life human males must live, free of such concerns. He tried to comprehend such an existence, and failed. No wonder humans were so outrageously extreme in their emotions, and their behavior, with no stringent need to control on threat of painful death.

Yes, he did feel some regret. Regret, and wonder that Amanda had chosen him, knowing that there were things that as a Vulcan he could never give her. She could have married a human. _Any_ human she could have married would have given her a life of more safety, more security, more …love, than what he provided. As a husband, comparatively speaking, he had been a poor provider of such comforts – at least, compared to any human she might have wed.

He had not realized the enormity of that when he'd first pursued her. It had come to him, gradually, incident by incident. The loss of independence and freedom she'd suffered due to the media attention engendered by their marriage. The very real danger from anti-Federationists who'd chosen her as a symbol to attack and a target to eliminate. The loss of family and friends she'd endured – both by leaving her Terran ties behind and from his failure to give her the Vulcan family that was her due – the result of his mother's shunning her, leaving her outside of the circle of clan ties.

He had not anticipated the full extent of any of these. And, last but certainly not least, the dangers, totally unrealized, his Vulcan heritage represented to her. And he'd never even conceived that _vrie_ would reach forward 5000 years to claim him. Small wonder he had tried to make up for that by giving her anything, everything else he could. As if any of that could be just compensation for what he lacked, simply by being Vulcan But she had married him anyway. And as he could not change his biology, there was no help for it.

Amanda looked up at him and smiled, in forgiveness, in acceptance, and rose to follow him to the bedroom.

He turned away, stripping off his clothes, and Amanda followed suit.

He heard Amanda toss the bed coverings on the floor, and draw back the sheets. He closed his eyes, drawing a deep calming breath, marshalling his control. Thinking what folly he had practiced, a male of his line, of his violent passions, to take a fragile human to wife. He sighed and turned to her.

She lay back on the bed as he turned, and as he settled down next to her, he could see her swallow hard. He looked her over, head to toes, thinking, as always when he looked at her, what a pretty girl she was.

He'd thought that on first seeing her.

**Stardate 2229.10 Terra**

It had been autumn, and he'd been walking, enjoying the flame colored leaves of the trees, one of the few things he'd found on Terra akin to Vulcan skies. He had seen her giving an interview to the press, surrounded by them, beleaguered, apparently having been caught leaving a building, for she was on the steps of the UFP headquarters.

He'd paused, only because he'd had some unpleasant encounters with the press himself before he'd learned how to control the environment – he had concluded it would be impossible to control the press. Yet this girl had been surrounded by what appeared to be a very assertive group of them, and she was…Amanda's phrase now would be 'holding her own' with them.

He'd stopped out of concern; he'd stayed out of curiosity, well aware he was lacking in such skills himself, watching her banter with them, keeping them at bay. He didn't understand the subject of the interview, something to do with a controversy over her review of another prominent theorist, but in spite of some of unpleasant reporters, she'd stayed in control of the group, polite, on point and even amused.

Looking up to answer a reporter at the back of the group, she'd noticed him watching. And she'd smiled in what he'd understood was friendly acknowledgement among humans, a tacit sort of "I see you" recognition and query as to what he wanted, standing there staring at her. And he'd felt the light extension of her aura, something that proved she was far from psi-null, if untrained. No more and no less than what he encountered from many humans in the course of a day.

He had not responded and she had turned back to the reporter's question. He did not think she ever remembered the chance encounter with a stranger, even a Vulcan one, at the edge of a crowd. And yet, from that moment of connection, he'd …wanted…her.

He'd watched her with the reporters for a few moments more, taking note of her, of the name they used to speak with her. And with a consciousness that still surprised him, even now, he'd looked at her left hand, well aware that rings there indicated a human female was bonded. There were none. He watched her a few minutes more, thinking about that, about his response to her, about her, before moving on.

Perhaps nothing would have come of it, if fate had never brought them together again. But he had not allowed fate the final say in that, whatever role it had played in their first meeting. He'd always remember that moment, struck by her holding her own, surrounded by what he'd come to consider the jackals of the press. Admiring her possession of an ability he did not share, particularly in such a young girl. And at the same time wanting to intervene. Wanting her. It had been a curious, but not entirely illogical phenomena.

He had not exactly been surprised, merely wondering a little, that he found himself attracted to her. Perhaps because she was the antithesis of him, and had some qualities he felt he lacked. A small, very **human** girl, with her hair like Terra's sun and eyes as blue as Terran skies, holding the press not just at bay but enthralled, with an arch amusement and a casual control he could never emulate.

The press had been interested in her negative review of an apparently well loved and respected researcher. But she had, if not swayed them to her point of view, made considerable inroads. If she had not mastered them, she had stood up to them, held her own, undiminished. They had admired her, if not agreed with her, by the end of the interview. He admired that. And her. And by the end of the interview, he had desired both for himself. The ability as well as, surprisingly enough, the girl who'd possessed it. He had wanted to possess the girl as well. He had felt it deep within himself, that stirring of desire.

That depth of feeling had surprised him. Not so much that he felt it for a human, but that he'd felt it at all. It ran in his line, and he'd long been expecting, hoping that it would come to him. It had been part of his parent's marriage, and part of what he'd wanted for himself as well.

He'd had innumerable chances to choose a bondmate, for his parents had not imposed a choice on him. Yet of those eligible, none had tempted him. For all those presented to him, Vulcan women of estimable lineage and suitable political and dynastic lines, none had engendered more than a passing interest from him, even that fading on closer acquaintance. He had begun to believe he was not a true Xtmprszqzntwlfb. But put off making a choice until necessity forced him, as it soon would and must.

So to feel it at all surprised him more than the object of his desire. He looked at her anew, critically, calculatingly, evaluatingly, but the feeling stayed within him.

He'd wanted that girl.

And at the back of his mind was a quiet, calm certainty. No matter. If the desire survived passing acquaintance, he would deal with it. He always got what he wanted.

He had noted her name, gone back to his embassy, and had Senet do an information search. No one had thought twice about his request, assuming it business related. He had almost forgotten it, and her, when the dossier had been delivered to his computer. He remembered opening it, looking through it. Who she was, why she was in Geneva.

Her field was incomprehensible to him, a combination of both theory and science, something to do with comparative ethology among Federation races. Her current notoriety was that she was challenging some long entrenched views on the uniqueness of certain long to be held preeminently human characteristics, and subscribing them to a more universal status. She'd been apparently asked to "peer review" a far more well known theorist's work, one whose name was well known enough that even he recalled it. Her recently published and devastating if empirically founded rebuttals had the academic community up in arms. He noted it, without much considering it or even understanding it. Of far more interest to him was not what she was arguing, but how. And that her dossier had confirmed her unbonded status. That confirmation of her status had been all the catalyst he needed to satisfy his curiosity. He had contacted the appropriate Federation liaisons.

He was a powerful man on Vulcan, and accustomed to his requests being instantly fulfilled. He was becoming a powerful man in Federation politics, now holding not just Vulcan's influence, but beginning to hold many of the votes of the non-human and telepathic block in Federation politics. No one even questioned his request for a review, an analysis of how Vulcan fit in the comparative ethology of Federation species by a researcher young but already well established in such matters. It even had a sort of logic to it, though logic was far from his thoughts. In a short time he had arranged that their paths would cross again.

And he was so used to always getting what he wanted, he did not even question his ability to do that. He'd been curious, but he had not really expected that his brief surge of desire would survive a second meeting. He had come to realize he was going to be …fussy…about a choice of bondmate. It was, after all, a characteristic of his dynastic line. But he didn't dwell on the incongruity of his sudden focus. He expected this one would effect little more than a passing interest too.

He did not know, even now, if she thought their first formal meeting had not been chance or business alone, but for a much more personal reason. That he had deliberately arranged her attendance at the Vulcan embassy, made himself available when she was to be there, had let them become acquainted in stages, as if casually. He had not told her at the time of his machinations, more concerned with learning who she was, if what he had thought he wanted was real, was even feasible.

And in their meetings she had displayed the same qualities that had first intrigued him. Most humans he dealt with were in the diplomatic field. On opposite sides of the negotiating table, they were wary, even hostile. Most had various professional agendas, if not immediate concerns, then potential concerns for the future.

She had been different, had come curious, uncowed, with that same arch amusement, not at or of him, but a sort of shared amusement. At their meeting. At life itself. He had once again felt that sense of …connection.

He had come to see she took joy in even the most ordinary of tasks, that she found life interesting, and was prepared to find the good in it, rather than the reverse. And that unlike most humans, she saw their similarities, Vulcan to human, far more keenly than their differences. Unlike himself, for that matter. It was an unVulcan outlook. Vulcan philosophy made much of celebrating differences. But he had come to realize from a diplomatic standpoint it was as well to recognize shared values, shared goals. She'd been almost the first human who seemed to take that as a given, as matter of fact. As a first course, rather than a last resort. That they had more similarities than differences.

Even in their differences, there were times he felt she understood them better than he. She seemed to always expect that underneath superficial differences, there was often a greater shared truth. Of course, it was her field. Still, he found it fascinating that she might teach him some things. Outside of course, of handling the press.

Now attached, at least in a temporary, adjunct way to the embassy, she was eligible, even required by human sensibilities, to attend the various quasi-social, quasi-business social events that seemed part and parcel, _di rigueur_, of diplomatic affairs. She attended the first alone. Casual questioning revealed she had no serious male attachments in her life. The lack of rings on her hand proved a valid talisman. The dossier was correct. She was not promised. She was not even in one of the quasi permanent relationships humans engaged in that so mystified Sarek, where they seemed to change life partners as easily as changing hands in a dance.

She had associates. Friends. She had come to Geneva with a group, some older, some younger. He was aware, too that the researcher whose work she had so soundly discounted was even bandied about in the press with her name. But there was apparently no evidence of a liaison other than a professional one. She was not seen with him at social events. He did not come to the embassy. Sarek suspected the man had sought to align himself with her for professional gain and then discovered she was not so easily manipulated. Still in spite of her unflattering assessment of the man's work, they were often together. Working together. There was nothing he could do about that, but he disliked it.

He ordered a dossier on him as well, and looked at the man, the human, with the narrow, discounting eyes of a potential rival. And found him… unimpressive. Easily dismissed. A small troll-like man, soft from academia, and too aged for such a young girl – Sarek discounted his own actual, even greater age, preferring to think in relative rather than chronological terms. And the man's logic was flawed. Now that Sarek understood her level of intelligence, he seriously doubted she'd align herself with someone whom she could … outthink.

Naturally he had no qualms about himself in that regard.

But humans **did **make illogical choices as regards life partners, and his discounting of this rival did not necessarily mean that she would. Using the excuse that he spent too much time enclosed in meeting rooms, they'd been discussing her research requirements, the ostensible purpose for her association with the Vulcan embassy and Sarek, while out walking. He found it easier to consider her as a potential choice outside of the remembered constraints of his embassy, the reminders of his culture, his dynastic line. So, when the press waylaid them and asked her for a "quote" on the current controversy, he later used the opening to ask of it, as if he were unaware, with a view toward hearing about man who was a tacit rival, if only in his own eyes.

"It's very simple," she said, turning down the path by Lake Geneva. "Jacob's theories were long entrenched views, and supported by some science. But recent discoveries have proven that they were based on a too limited, too exclusive, a data sampling. Many of his conclusions are simply flawed."

"He would seem a poor researcher, then."

She smiled. "He's more a theorist. And I disagree. New discoveries are made all the time, and the revisitation of theories, the reanalysis of science, is inevitable. And it is not Jacob's conclusions that are so interesting to me – though they are beloved by many, and I've become unpopular in some respects for upsetting them, but his questions."

"His questions," Sarek echoed, frowning.

"His questions are marvelous. He is brilliant. And the way he writes," she drew a breath. "Is beautiful. I may disagree with some, perhaps most, of his conclusions, but I confess to utter admiration for his questions." She looked at him, "and aren't the questions in some respects even more important than the answers?"

Sarek stared at her, stunned. She was, of course, right. But that was not what distressed him. Her admiration was obvious, and real.

For a moment he wondered if he had lost her before he'd even begun.

And at that moment as they turned onto a narrow path that edged the lake, a large bird came flying out of the water straight at them. For a moment both of them froze, while the bird came at them, huge wings, drops dripping from its feathers, the leathery, orange colored webbed feet, the odor of it and then Amanda yelped and turned, nearly colliding with Sarek, and he took her arm and they ran. But even though he sensed her startlement, he could hardly be alarmed, because she was laughing even as they ran. When they got far enough up the path, the bird suddenly veered off.

"What was that?" Sarek asked, staring back at the creature, now rejoining its fellow.

She got control of her laughter, leaning against him while he kept his arms protectively around her.

"It was a swan." She looked up at him, still staring across the lake at the birds. "I forgot they were still here. Don't worry, they don't bite. They don't even have teeth. They just fly at you. He was just protecting his mate."

Sarek looked back at the pair, now flapping their huge wings and settling back on the water. His eyes narrowed. "Indeed."

"Swans are very devoted. One of the few Earth species that mates for life."

"Like Vulcans," Sarek commented, regarding the creatures with more respect.

"It's rather late in the season for **that **sort of display though."

"I don't understand."

"It's almost winter. They'll be migrating soon." She looked up at him. "The lake will freeze. They will have to fly south."

"How unfortunate," Sarek commented, shivering inwardly at the thought of the huge lake freezing solid, "that Federation government offices do not migrate south with the swans."

She laughed at that. "I suppose it will be cold for you. Perhaps you'll believe the legends."

"Legends?"

"When the swans – geese too – migrate, they fly in a V formation, like an arrow in the sky. It's for aerodynamic reasons, but it's very beautiful to see them. There are all sorts of Terran legends as to how and where they are directing us poor humans. To migrate south with them." She shook her head. "I'm digressing from our previous conversation. Sorry."

"I believe the swans were responsible for that."

She pulled back a little. "Sarek?"

He looked from the swans back to her.

"It's all right. You can let me go."

He released her, forcing himself not to show any regret for the action. "My apologies."

"Don't be silly. I was startled too." She looked up at him. "Blame the swans if you must."

Sarek thought he would rather thank them. He gave them a narrowed glance, but they seemed no longer interested in them, and Amanda was leading them away from the path by the lake.

Her mind was back on business as she continued, "Questions aside, Jacob's work was seminal. And I confess to have fallen absolutely in love with his writing. It made it very hard for me to so thoroughly trounce someone whom I respect so much."

Sarek gave her a narrowed glance. This was going from bad to worse. He had thought the man no rival, and now it appeared she was, if not in love with him, in love with his work, flawed though it might be. Sarek felt frustrated.

"But I suppose **you** don't have that problem in evaluating his work."

"I have not read it," Sarek said shortly.

She turned to him, frowning, confused. "But I thought that's what stirred your interest in having a comparative ethology study done? His original conclusions certainly favored the pro human dominate faction in the federation. And the recent research disproving is – as you can't have failed to notice in the press – and from my reception by the press – far from popular.

"I can admit to the advantages of such a study without reading flawed theorists," Sarek said curtly.

Amanda shrugged lightly, slightly put off by his mood. "Well, if you have a day or two, you might find going through his lecture series well worth your time. Even disproved, his views represent a considerable majority faction of the Federations political weight. That's what you're up against."

"Would it not make more sense merely to read your work, since it is the correction?"

"No." She gave him a light smile. "Humans have a saying. Know your enemy. Such entrenched views aren't going to change in people's minds because of a flurry in the press over some new science. Humans especially can have an emotional attachment to long favored views. And until they do, it can't be anything but useful for you to know the mindset of those on the other side of the negotiating table."

"Perhaps." He was thinking of more personal issues, that this man was more of an enemy than he had at first assumed. He did not get any sense from her that she considered him a potential bondmate. But her admiration for his work – and her love – _love_ – for his words, was a considerable setback.

"There are those who think you have asked for this study for that purpose alone."

He drew his mind back with difficulty to Federation politics. Her mistaken belief of the purpose bringing her to his embassy. "Do you believe that?"

She shrugged. "It's logical. And very shrewd." She looked at him. "I've heard, oh, round and about, that you've impressed people with this move. People who expected you to be a pushover in certain aspects of human-style negotiation tactics have revamped their decision to play those games. Some believe you are planning to use the press interest in this too. That you aren't interested in the study merely for the relevant aspects, but also seeking to capitalize on the controversy. For scenes like that one." She nodded to the departing press contingent. She half smiled. "I'm being told I'm something of a traitor, for aiding and abetting – not an enemy, certainly, but a potential rival."

He blinked at this, unsettled by her continuing to bring up points he had not considered. "And do you believe that as well?"

Her blue eyes looked at him. "I'm not really qualified to judge. I only know that the majority of the Federation believes we're stronger with Vulcan than without her. My personal beliefs are that the more friends and allies one has, the better. It's not my job – or my nature – to look for enmity. I'm an ethologist." She half smiled. "I look for the similarities, more than for differences. And I prefer to look for the good."

"An…admirable goal. Though, among Vulcans, the philosophy of IDIC celebrates differences. Diversity, if one will."

"'That not a blade among the grass but flaunts its difference with elation.'"

"I don't understand."

"A poem. By Phyllis McGinley. _In Praise of Diversity_."

"Indeed? I would like to hear something of human philosophy in this regard."

"She was a poet, not a philosopher. And …somewhat of a humorist. But a Pulitzer Prize winning one." She looked at Sarek. "A great award."

"Then her poetry must be worthy. In addition to its subject matter."

"I like her work." She looked at Sarek, who seemed to be waiting for more, and continued:

Rejoice that under cloud and star

The planet's more than Maine and Texas

Bless the delightful fact there are

Twelve months, nine muses, and two sexes

And infinite in earth's dominions

Arts, climates, wonders and opinions.

She smiled and broke off. "You will have to excuse her somewhat provincial phrasing. She lived centuries ago, long before the discovery of other worlds. So she speaks only of Earth. But I think she would have approved of the Federation."

"Based on this short sample, I agree. I believe I would approve of her works as well. On closer acquaintance."

"If that's a hint, I will tell you it's a very long poem, too long for me to recite. And as much as I like her work, I can't say I'd remember all of it, or do it justice. But if you want to see more, I'll bring you a volume."

"A …volume?"

"A book, Sarek. As I said, her works are centuries old."

"Such an item must be valuable."

"Somewhat. Not very. And I happen to have two of that particular volume. I liked her work so much, that when I came across a second, I bought it as well." She gave him a scapegrace look. "I happen to be something of a collector of books." She shook her head ruefully. "It is a **terrible** vice of mine."

He was surprised at that. "I would hardly consider the pursuit of knowledge a vice, Amanda."

"**You** don't have to worry about finding space for 10,000 books."

He looked at her. "You do not know that."

"Ah." She gave him an arch look. "A kindred spirit."

"Perhaps. However, I would hesitate to deprive you of even one of your vices."

She laughed. "It would be my pleasure." She looked at him. "Truly, I don't need two. And I've never known anyone else that I could quote McGinley to." She half smiled. "Consider it a souvenir of Terra. When you think of IDIC, you can think of her poem."

"And of you."

She looked up at him. "And of me." She turned a little away. "And if you collect books, you should have at least one Terran one."

"On that condition, I will accept with equal pleasure." He eyed her. "Perhaps someday I will have occasion for more than one."

She looked at him, and then shook herself, drawing a steadying breath. "To get back to the subject. Even if that is all you wanted, I also think you'd get more out of it if you reviewed Jake's work in toto, not just the parts I've put in contention. You'd find it useful."

He looked at her, eyes narrowed, thinking of what she'd said "I am curious. Who requested you to evaluate that work, given that your views were in opposition to his? Was it he?"

"There's a review committee, at the press that publishes both our work. Why?"

"He did not request it himself?"

"He was probably given a chance to reject me as a peer reviewer. With his reputation it's common. He's been around a lot longer."

"That is obvious."

She glanced at him. "I hope you aren't referring to the quality of my work."

"I am not familiar enough with your field to make a judgment on your work, and in that your reputation must speak for you. I was merely making a personal remark. You are twenty Terran years - barely more a child, even by your standards."

She bridled a little at that. "In many fields of Terran science, it is almost traditional that if one hasn't made a major breakthrough before twenty, one never will. I am not unusual in that regard."

Sarek flicked an eyebrow, discounting but uninterested in the foibles of Terran academia. "Nevertheless, I wonder if he didn't choose to have you evaluate it for the notoriety alone. The controversy has generated a great deal of press coverage for him. I have been given to understand such is rarely undesirable, even when largely negative."

"The same could be said of your bringing me to the Vulcan embassy."

Sarek gave her a sharp, almost startled look, but she had merely tossed the comment off, seeming unoffended either way.

"I was honored to be asked to review his work. It's true all publicity is good publicity for Jake. His series is being rerun on BBC and his ratings are higher than ever. And well deserved."

But he was still stunned at her implication. He was secure enough in his own knowledge of himself that he discounted any implications on that score. But that she might call him on it astounded him. Just a human, barely more than a girl, he had not thought her to review the situation and come up with such an interpretation. As for annexing her to be a professional asset for himself, that idea was plainly ludicrous. Skills, even rare ones, could be hired if the price was considerable enough. Securing a bondmate was a far more important matter. Yet he'd already begun to think of her in that light. And in that light, he did not appreciate her tacit defense of her associate, or her casual reference to base manipulations on his part. It was unseemly. Even though she did not …yet…consider herself, or even know he was considering her, a potential bondmate, her disloyalty stung.

He chose to challenge the former, still rankling over his perceived rival.

"And are you honored to be asked to come here?"

Again that arch, amused look. "Of course."

He frowned a little at that. She seemed more amused than honored. "It seems illogical to air flawed theories."

She still seemed amused. "How do you know they're flawed if you haven't investigated them? It could be **I'm** wrong."

He looked down at her in surprise, and she smiled back, a wry twist of her lips. He resisted for a moment, but found her mood, her air, infectious. He raised an eyebrow, half in challenge, half in amusement. "Are you?"

She answered him exactly in kind. "No."

He liked that utter confidence. And it seemed to settle his rival as well. "Then I don't need to view his."

She grew serious again, turning away. "You really should, if for the writing alone. His words are …beautiful."

Sarek drew a sharp breath, having had just about enough of this, particularly when he had just felt he'd made a real connection to her. He took her arm, stopping her as she turned. "If I wish to experience beauty, I have no need to look elsewhere.

She did a classic double-take, staring up at him wide-eyed. He raised an eyebrow, looking down at her, satisfied he'd finally made his intentions clear. She seemed stunned. And then she shook her head, as if she discounted his words, his touch, considered it merely a cultural misinterpretation.

"We should go back," she said abstractedly. "It's getting late."

And he realized he would have to be plainer still. What would have been very clear to a Vulcan, was not clear to her. He needed to do more research, on communicating such intentions in a way that a human female would understand.

_To be continued…_


	37. Chapter 37

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 37**

Now that Sarek knew where and how to look for her, for his investigation into her background was thorough, he saw her fairly frequently. She was sometimes one of the distant figures who skated on the frozen water of the lake, silver blades flashing, ice crystals flying up from the sharp blades as she jumped and flew and landed. He'd seen her coming into the embassy with those skates hanging over her shoulders, tied by their laces. She had put rubber guards over the blades, but he'd asked curiously to see them, having never heard of this method of travel over frozen water, and she'd slipped one of the guards off to show him. The blades had gleamed, the edges as razor sharp as a lirpa. He had to confess that he wasn't quite sanguine about them.

And once, as he'd been walking, partly meditating – partly on her – in a park in the evening, he'd been startled, astounded to see her across the park, quite a distance away, but seemingly running toward him. She had something cradled in her arms, and she was being pursued by a host of others, some men, some women, hot on her heels while others tried stringently to catch her as she swerved to evade them. The last dozen yards she ran almost straight toward him, as if seeking rescue. But her head was down, she did not see him, was not aware of him, still protectively cradling the apparently precious object in her arms. And as he stood, astounded and disbelieving at the scene before him, unsure how to react, if to rescue, those pursuing her caught up to her, and knocked her to the ground.

Violently knocked her to the ground. All of it happening in a few seconds. But the shock, the rush of emotion that flooded him had shaken him to the core.

He forced his vision clear of the flames that had momentarily engulfed him – she was not his - this was no challenge. He saw she was on the ground, others, males females, pinning her there. He took a step toward the group, far away though they were. They did not attack her further, their intent seemed to be on the object she was holding. And then he heard someone call "Touchdown!" and Amanda sat up, not frightened or cowed, but laughing, throwing the once precious object to the ground and he saw it was an oddly shaped ball.

She had raised her hands above her head as if in victory, leaped to her feet obviously uninjured, and done a little dance, a few seconds of triumph, before the whole group lined up again for another strange move.

She'd only been playing a game, he'd realized, letting out a shaken breath. One of those games of sport of which he'd heard Terrans were so enamored.

And yet the feelings that had washed over him, the violence of them, the possessiveness, seeing her chased like an animal, borne to the ground by others, by other **men**, lingered in him for days, colored his next meeting with her. And his next.

He had come to realize this was no momentary, passing attraction. It was not going to fade in a few days like the others in his life. It was becoming, in fact, more entrenched. He had wanted her before, and that wanting had not diminished on closer acquaintance. Instead it was growing stronger. After seeing her in that violent, primitive light, after experiencing his own possessive reaction to it, he acknowledged that this was the woman he wanted for a bondmate. In the split second she'd been borne to the ground, he'd reacted to her as a male faced with challenge. This would not be true if he did not think of her as his. He wanted her… passionately. He did not need to face that knowledge, it plagued him, began to color his every waking thought, and disturb his rest.

He began to feel that he would know no peace until he had her safely bonded. Until he had taken her, mind and body. Until she was irrevocably his, and he could rest, secure, that she always would be. His wife. It was how he had begun to think of her, that human girl.

That was the paradox, he told himself. She was human. She had no conception of Vulcan needs, Vulcan sexuality, of the passionate madness of the _Time_. He hadn't concerned himself too much with that, when he thought his interest was a mere passing fancy that would fade. Now that he realized it was real, and lasting, he faced the fact that she was human. She was alien. He told himself this in many ways. As if he might find a way for it to have weight against the desire that had encompassed him.

Logically, he should dissuade himself from marrying a human. There were obvious, undeniable disadvantages to it.

And he discovered he could not focus logically on any of them. He didn't care that she was human. She was female. That was enough. He had chosen her. He wanted her. The fact that she was human was unfortunate in that it raised undeniable difficulties, but it seemed to make no difference to his desire. It only raised obstacles that his logic must overcome. He was Vulcan, a species in which logic ruled supreme in all areas, save one, and that one was of marriage, of bonding. If he chose, he was entitled to passion reigning supreme over logic in this area. No one could deny him this. It was the Vulcan way. And he did so choose. And for all the logical arguments he could summon for not marrying her, his passion, ruling supreme here, dismissed them all, and instead he put his logic to work on the means, the ways, the necessity of securing her.

As to that, she still had no real idea of his desire or his intentions. When she had seen him again, she treated him exactly as when they had first met. Friendly. But nothing more, she had clearly discounted his previous gesture and words as some sort of cultural error.

And he was at a loss in trying to ascertain the proper way of making such advances to a human. There were apparently many ways, and he had yet to evaluate them, or determine a course of action. And while he was thus delayed in frustratingly tiresome, confusingly contradictory research, she could bond to another. This world was full of Terran men. They could not all be so stupid as to leave a girl like her unbonded much longer. He didn't trust that colleague of hers not to make her an offer. According to his dossier he was also unmarried, a widower, and Sarek was deeply suspicious of his intentions. Amanda had already admitted to an attraction – to this man's work, if not to him. If she was asked by him, she might well say yes. This man was prominent in her field. It was a logical alliance. More logical, in fact, than the one Sarek intended for her. While Sarek himself dallied in tedious research, trying to understand human courtship rituals, this man could make an offer, and she might well accept. Probably would. It was incumbent on him, thus, to act.

He had coldly acknowledged, if only to himself at that point that he was running out of time. That he must finish his investigations, however confusing they might be, choose a course of action and pursue her in such earnest that this time she could not fail to understand his ultimate intentions.

He had at first sought to meet with her alone, very much alone. They walked. They talked. She began to show him bits of her world, things she felt he should see. He was, in truth, little interested. He had come to dislike Terra, the cold, the damp, the restless public emotionalism of its populace. Its deserts did not compare to Vulcan's Forge, and its oceans were …horrifying. The rest of it was either frigidly white, enrobed in ice and snow, or too often covered in dense, green, humid vegetation. And all of it too loud, too wild, too frenetic.

He was Vulcan enough to prefer the warm dry winds of his home, the peace of logic and discipline in its public life. Emotion should be relegated to private affairs. As this was. He was interested in **her** emotions. The rest of Terra was nothing more than a distraction.

But such sightseeing was an excuse, a reason to claim her company. Before the backdrop of Terran wonders and marvels, they moved from acquaintance to friendship. He began using her given name. She began using his, sans the Ambassadorial title. It took an effort for him to say her name without the feminine prefix he kept wanting to assign to it. But he mastered it after a few hesitations. Amanda. Her name was Amanda. Terran names were not unlike Vulcan ones, they had special meanings. He looked hers up and discovered it meant beloved. He wasn't sure how to interpret that. Felt momentarily taken aback by it. It seemed a poor omen. He had no expectations of loving her.

For all the omens portent in her name, love did not leap into the equation of their relationship. They seem stalled, first on moving from formality to acquaintance, and then from that to friendship. Friendship was not his ultimate goal, but he had come to understand that given Amanda's total unfamiliarity with things Vulcan, including him, he could not move to what he wished before he established himself in some sort of personal regard, something more than a business associate. She did not know who he was, his family position, his background. His character was not a given to her, he had to prove himself. It wasn't granted automatically by virtue of his lineage, as it would be for a Vulcan woman.

That had been something of a shock. He had not realized his pursuit of her was going to require far more effort than even he'd considered, apart from the difficulties of her humanity. With a Vulcan female, the conventions were simple and well established, there was no ambiguity, and his family position virtually guaranteed his success with whomever he chose. But none of that applied with Amanda. It was as well he was determined, for securing her was no simple matter.

They were returning to the embassy after a long day. One of the tedious requirements of courtship was constantly needing to come up with new excuses to seek her company. He wanted to simply request her attendance, the request being almost a command, and that he could not do. He had to seek ostensible excuses for her company, and offer them in the real possibility she could refuse. An exceedingly tedious process. He'd soon put his staff on the search for such diversions as were considered suitable. He'd made the requisite suggestion for the next day, and was waiting, watching her, for her reply.

She gave him a sideways glance, looking pensive. And did not answer for a moment.

"Amanda?"

She sighed a little. "I keep thinking I **must** be misinterpreting you." She looked up at him, doubtful but as if finally determined to learn the truth. "Are you intending what I think you're intending?"

"Yes." Then he added, "To the latter."

"Why?"

He was non-plussed at this.

"Why me?"

"Do you consider yourself unworthy in some way?" Sarek asked. "Is that why you are not in a relationship?"

She seemed astonished at this. "Unworthy? No. I have not found the right person yet. It has not been a priority of mine at the moment."

"Yet?" His raised eyebrow indicated both interest in that _yet_ and a subtle reference to himself. Which she resolutely chose to disregard as if it were another cultural misinterpretation.

"I'm only twenty. I've been more interested in establishing my career."

"By Vulcan standards you **are** yet a child. Over young for such a relationship. But you are-" he looked her up and down, "quite grown up, are you not? By human standards, not ineligible."

She colored, his first experience with that phenomenon. "Are you ill?" he asked, studying her flushed face.

"It is an emotional reaction to embarrassment. Yes, I am …quite grown up. " She looked at him. "I didn't mean to slight you in saying 'yet'."

He half smiled at her quickness in relating his personal remark to the one she'd eschewed. "I preferred to take your qualification in the past tense. I was pleased, not offended. It means you are open to my suit."

She looked at him again, disbelievingly. "Your suit. You still didn't answer my question. Why me?"

"You have many laudable qualities."

"I'm not Vulcan."

He looked at her. Her emotions, her behavior told that to him without need for the physical evidence of her person, much less her words. But then he realized what she was saying. "Do you believe that should be a requirement?"

"I would think so, yes."

"Is a man of your species, a human, a requirement for you?"

Her blue eyes were wide. "I've never considered otherwise."

"Then it is time to take such consideration."

"Given that I'm sure there are many Vulcan women with… laudable qualities, probably more laudable than mine, with whom to associate, I have to ask again, why me?"

"I desire you."

She drew up a little, looking at him. "Excuse me?"

"I want you."

She colored again. "Do you mean-"

"I mean in all ways." He met her eyes squarely, his direct gaze making his intent plain.

She didn't fail to understand, the color deepening in her face before she looked down, away, embarrassed anew.

"I can't believe you said that to me."

"Is it improper to express such intentions?"

"Your manner of doing so is…rather blunt."

"You have left me little choice," Sarek said, terse in turn. "I have tried to express them less plainly. You have chosen to misinterpret those expressions."

"Yes. That is true." She looked at him. "I apologize. For that, and if I sounded…critical."

Daring, he covered her hand with his. He had made, finally, a formal declaration of intent, one she did understand. A Vulcan woman would answer in kind, but he had come to realize Amanda could not be expected to yet. There were too many unknowns, for both of them. And her emotions were an equal handicap. As competent and capable as she seemed to be in a professional setting, she seemed at a loss to know how to respond to this intent. Hence his touch of her hand. After his commitment to her, considering himself entitled, he allowed himself some perception of her emotions, though he shielded against her thoughts. He sensed, not rejection or indifference, but confusion, a little fear, a sense of vulnerability and ….attraction. The latter two heartened him, put their relationship on a more intimate level.

She was looking down at her hand in his. They had spent enough time together, that she sometimes forgot his Vulcan standards, forgot, perhaps that he was Vulcan, and she would take his arm, or his hand as they walked. He gathered it was standard behavior for a Terran female with a male, and he had allowed it, pleased in that respect she could regard him as such, and letting that license alone speak of his intentions. But this was not a casual contact, and she raised her face to his, as if his touch finally confirmed that she was no longer misinterpreting, in error, of his intent.

"Amanda. I understand you need to adjust to the possibility of such a relationship." He closed his fingers around hers, drew her hand to him and covered it with his other hand. A quiet definite possession, even if momentary. "I do not wish to rush you on that score. But as we have much to learn in this regard, I would hope you would not misinterpret that as my being less than …resolved."

She looked down again at her hand in his. "Resolved." She looked up at him, as if she'd never seen him before. Wonderingly. "How resolved?"

"Quite… determined."

It seemed to take her aback. Her eyes widened anew. With her head raised to look up at him, he could see the muscles move in her throat as she swallowed.

She shook her head and drew a step back, eyes narrowing, "Sarek, I—"

But he had done with words, chose to make the gesture courtship required with a human female. As contradictory as his research had been, it seemed definite on this. He leaned down, forestalling whatever negatives she'd been about to express, and kissed her. She drew breath in surprise as he brought his mouth down on hers. He felt it as if she drew the very breath from his lungs. And it made him want to take the very breath from hers. By the time the kiss was over, she was in no doubt of his desire. He drew back from her, and she looked up at him

"Amanda," he said, tasting her name as he would say it forever after, as his bondmate. As his wife. And then he leaned down and kissed her again.

She submitted for a moment, and then pulled back from him, or tried to. Even as part of him was shocked at the action in a female, he retained the presence of mind to let her go.

She looked up at him, her shoulders rising and falling. He had not thought he'd held her so long. She didn't say anything, one hand flat against his chest, in gentle restraint, while she got her breath back. He had miscalculated, forgotten that being from a more oxygen rich environment, human lung capacity was not equal to Vulcan.

She looked up at him, measuringly. And very slowly, as if in stages, as if she didn't quite dare to believe what she was doing, she raised her face to his, closed her eyes, and kissed him.

He was a little surprised, at such forwardness in a female, but he reminded himself she was human. He had ample evidence that human females were aggressive in sexual matters. She drew back a little after the first brush of lips, as if the warmth of his mouth, alien and unfamiliar surprised her, before leaned forward and kissed him, delicate, tentative, unsure. Then she drew a breath, and kissed him for real, her mouth opening to his. He returned it, with more restraint, aware he'd been too forceful in his last kiss. And then she drew back, and he, reluctantly, let her go. She was not **quite **his yet.

She looked at him, something new in her eyes, and he felt a measure of triumph that she felt something similar to what he did, even if a pale shadow of Vulcan passion. Then she let out a breath, and asked, "Do you love me? Even a little?"

He drew himself up at that, well and truly caught in this. He had no answer for her.

And the something in her eyes faded and died. "Wanting me isn't enough, Sarek. It's not enough for me. And it **can't** be enough for you. Neither is curiosity." She half turned away.

He took her shoulders in his hands, held her in place. "Amanda-"

She just looked at him, and shook her head. Regretfully. Reached up and traced his lips with a fingertip, unconsciously choosing a Vulcan touch, one that sparked green flame throughout him. "Wanting me just… isn't enough."

"Do you think my interest in you is merely physical?"

She half smiled, even at this. "What, you admire my mind?"

"I admire many things. Amanda, perhaps my choice of words was poor, but-"

"I don't believe that. You're a diplomat, Sarek. Words are your business."

"Not these words," he replied "Are you saying you require that I," his brow furrowed at the incongruity of it in reference to himself, "that I **love** you before you would marry me?"

"You want me to …to marry you?" She looked and sounded shocked in turn.

Now he was confused. Could she possibly have misinterpreted his intentions yet again? For a moment they stared at each other, both equally confused.

Sarek recovered first. "What else did you think I was asking?"

"I didn't think you meant marriage." She looked at him, still shaken. "I thought you were asking for …" the color rose in her face again, "a more casual encounter."

He stared at her, and then it was his turn to – not blush for Vulcans did not blush – but feel the scathing sweep of utter embarrassment flood through him at her assumption. "Vulcans do not engage in such casual liaisons."

"Really?"

"Never. Is that truly what you thought I was requesting?"

"I apologize." She flushed anew. "But what else do you expect me to think, when you tell me you want me …in that way? And that you **don't** love me."

"I want you in all ways. But I am Vulcan."

"And I'm human."

He looked at her for a moment, "My apologies. I didn't intend to inadvertently insult you, or to have my offer misintentioned."

"I didn't take it exactly as an insult. Interest is always flattering. I just didn't want to be the object of mere curiosity."

"You have not answered my question. My intent is not a casual liaison, but marriage. Now that this is clearly understood, is love a requirement for humans in such?"

"Not all humans."

He drew a relieved breath.

And then she looked up at him. "But it is for me." She turned away from the reaction even he could not control, looking away. "Love is even more important in marriage than in a brief affair. I need to love the man I marry. And I need to **be** loved."

He looked at her, thwarted by a requirement he had never even considered. It left him surprisingly bitter. His disappointment made him blunt, his tone terse. "I am surprised at you."

"At me?"

"A theorist in comparative ethology should be open to considering equivalent forms of …devotion."

She looked at him, eyes wide. "Are you accusing me of being provincial?"

"That is up to you is it not?"

She looked at him sharply. "I'm sorry. I guess I should have said something sooner. I didn't mean to lead you on."

"What did you take my attentions as a measure of?"

"Many things. Interest in my field, curiosity about things human, friendship. Even …some attraction. I never thought you intended… marriage." She shook her head, her disbelief still strong. "I still find it difficult to believe that you are serious. That you have really thought this through."

He raised an eyebrow.

She flushed. "All right. I will concede that."

"I could not be more serious. I would hope you would expect that of me, as a given, particularly in such serious …discussions."

There was a wounded look in his eyes that shocked her. "All right. I'll acknowledge that your intentions are serious. And deserve more serious consideration." She seemed shocked herself at even granting that. "I will also grant that there are many forms of…devotion. And that love is perhaps peculiarly human form. And that other, equally valid ones exist. But Sarek," she looked at him, "I am human. So human forms are important to me, as I am sure Vulcan ones are to you. Considering such a marriage would – will - take time."

He straightened, relieved and feeling on firmer ground with this. "How much time?"

"What?"

"It is a logical question. You have asked for time. I would be told the period required."

She shook her head. "I don't know."

His brows drew together in frustration and perplexity. "How can you not know what you have just requested?"

"Because what you're asking is a life decision, not to be lightly made. I don't have all the facts yet to make such a decision. And I haven't even thought of all the questions needed to gather those facts. I need time."

"That is also logical," he conceded reluctantly.

"And to get to know you."

"Is that not what we have been doing?"

"Not in this context."

He raised an eyebrow. "Does it make a difference in our knowing of each other so far?"

"To a certain extent, yes. Context is everything. I was relating to you as a friend. I still find it hard to believe you want more of me than that."

"You need have no doubts on that."

"Even though I'm human?"

"Regardless."

She lowered her eyes. "You've been thinking about this quite a bit longer than me."

"Since our first meeting."

She looked up at him, really shocked at this. "That's …I had no idea."

"I admit to a lack of competency in making my intentions plain. Now that you are aware of them, I hope you are willing to give me the opportunity to prove them."

"It's more than merely proving them, Sarek. I can acknowledge your…intent and still not – You understand, I'd have to **love **you. And feel the same from you."

He was taken aback by this. "Amanda …I cannot promise that. I hope that you could acknowledge my intent…without holding me to a human emotion."

She looked at him. "It's important to me. Though I suppose that is…somewhat provincial of me. The Vulcan equivalent then. Is there a Vulcan equivalent?"

"That I am already quite…lost to."

She'd looked up at that, her eyes wide.

"Amanda."

She shook herself out of it. "Well, I'd have to feel **that** from you."

He took that as license, though he knew she did not intend such. He touched her cheek with his hand, fingers lightly brushing her temple. She had a little psi, many humans did, but she was completely untrained and she had no shields at all to speak of. Such barriers as she had were easy to get past. As he splayed his fingers, she understood well enough what he was attempting, and drew a breath, her eyes wide.

But she didn't stop him. He felt her tremble as he let down his own barriers, and she tensed a little as the contact deepened, but she didn't pull away.

He didn't touch her thoughts, held himself with discipline from even delving too deeply into her emotions. But he let her feel a measure, a small measure of **his** feelings, gauging her reaction in turn as he did so. Letting her know exactly what he was doing, and something of what he was holding back. As he removed his hand from her temple, he dared to also run his fingers through her hair, tempted by the unusual color.

"The Vulcan equivalent," he said, of the mind touch. And then unable to resist, he caressed her again, the soft skin of her cheek, and remembering that she was human, he leaned down and kissed her, more gently this time. An implicit promise that their marriage would, could include both sorts of touches, mental and physical. And drew back, reluctantly. Hating the necessity. "You will consider my suit?"

She was trembling. He realized she had a reason to do so. This was probably the first true mind touch between their species, Vulcan to human. Odd that he had not thought about that until afterward. It had not felt strange to him, but rather …right. As if meant to be. But it was not part of her species interactions and therefore had to have been strange to her. He had not sensed anything of severe distress on her side, apart from the mix of confusing emotions she felt for him. She did not love him, not yet. The question was, would she even allow for the possibility that she might?

"Amanda?"

She looked at him, as if seeing him anew.

"Will you consider it?"

She nodded. And then found her voice. "Yes." She looked at him again. "I will."

He let out a relieved breath. "I am well pleased." Then thought of something else.

"Amanda. In my culture, one does not consider more than one suit at a time."

She colored again. "I'm not in a relationship."

He looked at her, thought of her colleague and decided if she did not regard him in that light, it was best he not bring the option to her mind. "Correction. You are…with me."

She shook her head again, not in rejection, but in wonder. "This is so strange."

"No." Sarek denied that. And liking the intimacy of the act, leaned down and kissed her again. She drew back first again, catching her breath, and he realized he had to perfect his technique somewhat in that regard. He seemed to be kissing her breathless. He settled for touching her face, fingers tracing along her temple, a dangerous, too tempting touch, more so than a kiss for it was of his **own** culture, and had inherent implications. It was tacit promise to himself of the bond he would someday form with her, as a kiss was not. "This is logical."

"Logical?"

"Naturally." Sarek answered absently, fingers brushing her blond brows. Such an unusual color. But not unpleasant, this gleam of near gold under his fingers. It made him wish for even more intimate touches. Even though he was shielding, to touch her so and think such thoughts tested even Vulcan controls, and her eyes widened as if she recognized his thoughts. That didn't disturb him, he considered it so much the better. He would teach her shielding in time, he himself would learn to shield against even a marriage bond, even in such intimate circumstances as these. All that would come in time. And this proof that they were telepathically compatible was only a plus. He forced himself to take his fingers from her temples. Were she Vulcan, he would have had his answer by now. And it would have been yes. There were disadvantages to her humanity that he had not considered.

"The appropriate, logical response to mutual attraction between potential mates is marriage. Is it not?"

She stared up at him in wonder. "I suppose so."

"I do not suppose. I am …quite certain. In that. And in this." He did not touch her mind again. Too much of that, and he'd become too bound himself, unable to leave her an option. But he kissed her again, attempting to make her as certain as was he.

He sometimes felt she had never lost that utter wonder that he had chosen her. And he had never wavered in that. It remained merely for her to choose him.

Perhaps by her standards, it had not taken her very long.

His standards were not hers. By his, it had taken her far longer than he'd expected. Utterly, abysmally, incomprehensibly long. He knew his own mind, he knew humans were sometimes slow to reach conclusions, that they did not calculate with Vulcan speed. But he found it difficult to wait the interminable length of time it took while she came to her own conclusions. To resist helping her to those conclusions, urging, arguing, debating her to some logical position. He could not do that. This was not a quantifiable issue, and there were huge unknowns to consider.

But he cared little for them, his mind was made up. He had simply determined to deal with those as they arose. And he was eager to begin in earnest. Not wait, poised on the threshold of that relationship.

But her mind was not, her decision was yet to be made, and she seemed determined to consider every aspect of their unlikely alliance before making a commitment. It was logical, at least from a certain perspective. But he did not have to like it.

His resolve not to rush her suffered some serious strain. He did not press her for a decision, but the more time he spent with her, the more he was determined to have her. And he made every effort to forward the relationship. He requested her attendance, asking for her companionship at various functions. He still saw her daily at the embassy. Slowly, persistently, he wore down her resistance, though sometimes he did press too hard. Rush her.

Her sheer frustration with him sometimes meant she picked a fight merely to storm away. To get away. The first time she'd done that, he'd been appalled, certain he would never see her again. But after some research he discovered there were approved remedies to altercations in human courtship.

He filled her office with roses.

She'd thanked him for the gift, as protocol required. And told him she didn't approve of cutting flowers, that she preferred gardens.

He approved of that in turn, but his true intent had been his awareness that human custom required a recipient thanking a sender for a gift. Even if unwelcome. He'd been well versed in that custom, he expected that she would honor it as well, particularly with him. He was also well aware that humans who dealt with diplomats were also well versed. Those who moved in diplomatic circles were warned that ignoring such protocols could have serious repercussions. He had taken advantage of that.

And she had thanked him, not in person but by visiphone, her manner cool and reserved. She also apologized for her behavior, before moving to cut the connection.

Shamelessly exploiting the opportunity, he forestalled her, suggesting that in light of her interest, they tour some famous botanical gardens. She met his gaze through the visiphone screen, reluctant, exasperated, and…torn.

After a long, very long moment, when he could almost watch her resistance warring with …something else… she'd finally agreed. Reluctant, but she had agreed. And he'd drawn a breath of sheer relief.

Roses took care of the problem, that time. He'd developed an appreciation for that flower from that moment on, however thorny and occasionally garish the reality. At least they had a pleasant scent. He decided henceforth to keep a source of roses near. Just in case. A little research proved such a flower would grow on his home planet, with some needful care. He put an aide into choosing the best varieties to do so, and seeking proposals to creating a small habitat on the grounds of his home that would ensure their growth. Roses were purportedly a symbol of love.

He could not give her love. At least he could give her roses.

He had come to realize that her …fights….were something of a pressure release. She was not a contentious person, in fact, for all her strength of will, she had a gentle nature – by human standards a loving one. But she was also strong, stubborn, and as she told him once, no pushover.

When he pushed too hard, she resisted. When he became too demanding, she retreated, sometimes precipitously. Her fights were a signal that he had come on too strong, that he was pressing her too much. That his demands had become uncompromising. Telling him when she felt overwhelmed with his expectations. When she needed space.

He knew it would be better to go more slowly, to give her more time. He did not have ultimate faith in roses as an invariable solution to such clumsiness on his part. But he was dealing with his desires as well as her emotions, and mediating between the two was not easy. He felt as if time were short. Not because of his biology, not because of her emotions per se, but because of her logic. He was concerned that if he gave her too much time, she would yield, not to his suit, but to the myriad of logical reasons why they should not marry. For all the talk about emotional humans, he was discovering that at least she was not ruled by emotion, at least not entirely. She responded to his suit with an almost Vulcan caution. Or at least a caution worthy of a Vulcan in any other serious consideration.

By his standards and requirements, their marriage was logical. But he was coming to realize that by hers it was not.

She asked questions. More questions of him than he of her. But then he already knew much of her. The information search he'd requested of her had given him the facts. The Federation security briefing he'd been given on her, when she had come to work at the Embassy had given him much more personal information. And his own mind touches, brief and rare though they were, had revealed even more.

She knew little of him though, and he found it revealing as well to know what she did ask. She seemed less interested in his position and his family, and the advantages her association would entail than in his character. He wondered if she actually knew the truth of who he was, but he couldn't quite think how to ask her. She asked him hypothetical questions. She was testing him. Though he'd never expected in his life to be subjected to such a critical evaluation from a potential spouse, he approved. He answered. At times she seemed almost displeased that his answers had yet to disqualify him. She might have favored a reason, a good logical reason, to agree that this would not work. At least it would have settled the issue to something other than her emotions.

He actually found her concerns, her questions, charming. Her profession might put her in contact with a myriad of Federation races, but she herself had unsophisticated, simplistic desires. When his intentions became known to his staff, he'd been warned that humans could be devious, grasping, scheming in love. There was some concern on their part that he'd been taken in by some manipulative human siren. He found that amusing.

She'd asked him for nothing. It was he pursuing her. Apart from her career, Amanda had indicated her life goals included a home, a husband, children. To be happy – Sarek substituted contentment for that word – in those ties. And she'd stressed little else. To love and be loved.

He found that requirement – almost a sole requirement, less daunting than at first. Love apparently had many facets. But while he was unsure of his ability to simulate the romantic side of it that the early part of a relationship assumed, he found the latter requirements more familiar. To care for her, in a committed relationship, seemed to him to be its long term requirement and that he had no difficulty imaging he could fulfill. He **would** care for her very well.

Children would no doubt prove somewhat difficult, but Sarek promised her that if cross-species genetics and hybridology could not grant them children, they would adopt children, or she could even bear children of her own.

That he answered her questions to her satisfaction was not a guarantee she would marry him. He'd come to realize that an unsatisfactory answer might give her reason to drop the relationship, but that even with her concerns satisfied to her satisfaction, she would not marry him if she did not love him.

To affect the outcome in the way he desired, he had to keep emotion in the mix. He disliked this, this forced dependence on an incomprehensible human emotion, but it seemed inevitable. And perhaps even logical, though he resisted that. He had chosen her, in part at least, because of passion. She apparently must, at least in part, choose him out of love. He had logical reasons, valid to him, for wanting her as wife, they did not apply to her. For her, the logical reasons not to marry him to a great extent outweighed those in favor of marriage. For her, emotion - attraction, _love _– was a requirement, necessary to tip the balance in his favor. She needed to love. He needed to make her love him.

He knew little of love. Was new even to passion, experiencing it best with her. But in spite of her humanity, he discovered he was not ineffective at this new relationship. He might not feel human love himself, but he must have some skill as a suitor for _she_ was yielding …slowly, but surely, to his persuasions.

He allowed himself a measure of satisfaction at that success.

Though he never quite eradicated the culture shock he felt, that his suit required so much more effort with her than it would have been to one of his own.

He sometimes considered that his …ego…if the term could be applied to a Vulcan, had never quite recovered from her taking her own time over such a difficult and important choice. Intellectually, he understood the gravity. But he had long since stopped regarding her with mere logic. His logic had become eclipsed by his desire, by passion. And he would never again lose that with her. After bonding, it would be permanent. And he had welcomed that. He had not felt that passion for any of the potential Vulcan bondmates he had been expected to choose. He had almost ….despaired…if that emotion was valid for a Vulcan….that he might go through life without that in his life. It was the one relationship where a Vulcan could feel, could allow himself emotion if he chose. He had a right to it in that one area of his life. He had not wanted, had refused, to deny himself that. If it had taken her to rouse that in him, then he would be forever grateful for her doing so. And if she was what he required, then he would have her. Had, in his own mind, an absolute right to her.

In return, he intended to grant her whatever requirements of hers that he could fulfill. Love he could not promise but short of that, he determined she would want for nothing. He would take care of her, he would care for her, he would see her equally fulfilled…or, being human, happy. It was, to use a term of Amanda's, fair trade. He had every intention of being fair.

Though he'd sensed that what she had really wanted was love.

_To be continued…_


	38. Chapter 38

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 38**

**Stardate 2250.4 Vulcan**

For all Amanda's delay in initially choosing him as a spouse, it had taken Sarek far longer – twenty years, to meet that requirement, and to offer her the love that she had so long ago desired. The Vulcan equivalent notwithstanding.

She was quite wonderful in herself, he thought, to have agreed to marry him even after his statement that he could not provide that. He had only recently come to appreciate how lacking, how deeply lacking, had been the Vulcan equivalent he had offered her so long ago.

Afterwards, when she became his, how he had arranged it all seemed of so little importance. She was his, what matter how it had come to pass?

He had, as always, achieved what he wanted. He had moved on. There was so much for them to learn of each other as bondmates, that he had little care in reflecting back on **how** he had persuaded her to bond.

He was not sure why he thought of it now. Her blue eyes gazing back at him, light-years and twenty years away from the girl on those steps, now the girl in his bed, under him, waiting for his attentions, his wanting undiminished.

He always got what he wanted. He had been determined to have her and have her he had. And did still. Perhaps that was what kept him reflecting on the past.

In spite of his traitorous Vulcan biology, in spite of freeing her to offer her a second choice, a second chance. In spite of that terrible morning weeks ago when he'd reluctantly offered that choice and had to wait for, to risk, her answer, yet again, - and how he had dreaded that answer, been more unsure and uncertain of it than he had the first time - he had her still. He had her still…and now he could admit that he loved her.

What a bitter irony it would have been if he had discovered he loved her, loved her truly as a human might, with that sense of self sacrifice, only to lose her if she did not choose him anew. Like an O. Henry story, the poor girl who sold her hair to buy a chain for her husband's watch, the husband who sold the watch to buy combs for his wife's hair.

Her loving him enough to serve him as chattel had nearly destroyed her. His loving her enough to let him go could have resulted in him losing her, if she had chosen to use that new freedom to leave him. They had barely sidestepped that ironic, heartsick fate.

He drew a relieved sigh at that, reached down and took one of her blond curls in his hand, twisting it around his fingers, charmed by the way the curl always conformed to the twist he'd set. Even after his hand released it.

She was so human, his wife. Her features, her emotions. To him, he still saw her as that, as a pretty human girl, the almost child he had chosen, alone against a hostile crowd, much as **he** had felt on Terra. A girl who had looked to him undaunted across the shared nemesis of the press, smiled and sparked a connection between them that spanned years and worlds.

At some level, he had never quite stopped seeing her that way.

There was the Terran saying, love at first sight. He did not really believe in it. But part of him had recognized something in her from first sight. Something he had not known he wanted until he had seen it in her. A combination of indomitable strength, wrapped up in a very slight frame, a blazing intelligence at one with warmth and humor. He had seen it in an instant, and it became a puzzle, a paradox he'd been intrigued to solve. Or if not to solve, for he could not claimed to have solved the puzzle she presented, then to at least possess.

_Love at first sight. _He could not claim that, but he had wanted her virtually from first sight.

And he had and did possess her. He knew she was occasionally disquieted by his emotions in that regard. It was, apparently, not an attitude held by human males, or if it was, was not considered estimable behavior. He didn't really understand **her** attitude toward that. The cultural difference was too wide. But it did not invalidate fact. She was his. Had been for nearly twenty years, and was still. Still.

The sheer depth of relief he had felt when she had agreed to bond with him had never entirely left him, and filled him now, anew.

But his relief had not been shared by others. Those around him, his advisors, his associates, his mother, had been shocked that he desired a human, had never fully accepted her. He had not cared, not felt anyone had the right to judge him. He had waited long enough to find what he wanted, he had persuaded her to choose him in spite of all the enormous odds against him, against them. He had no intention of giving her up. His position was such that it had not mattered to him whether his provincial advisors, whether even his mother accepted her. He did not need anyone's acceptance. He was the sole heir to the ruling clan of Vulcan. It was **they** who needed **him**.

Though he acknowledged, now, that their disapproval had been hard on her. She had borne the brunt of it. On top of assimilating a new culture, on a planet that included very few of her species, she had been virtually shunned by the ruling circle of his own clan.

In one respect he had not truly minded even that. In a way, it had made her more completely his.

She had been everything he had expected, imagined, and more. Even as he had been forced to allow her a choice in the matter, he wondered, really, how truthfully he had represented his case. If forced to acknowledge it, he would have to admit he had been primarily interested in seeing her make a choice in his favor, not necessarily the best choice for her. Even now. He wondered if knowing, she'd quite forgive him for that. If he even could forgive himself.

He looked down at her, his very human wife. He was heir to the hereditary ruling clan of Vulcan. He was accustomed to always getting what he wanted. A choice of wife being no exception to that implicit rule. Even if he himself joined the disapproval in his methods in only in his methods used to attain her.

He let go of the curl and sighed a little, shifting closer. He did not kiss her. If he did that, he suspected he would be lost, the lesson over. Amanda shifted a little too, swallowing hard, forcing herself to a disciplined relaxation, drawing her hands above her head, wrists crossed, so that he could take them easily in one of his hands. As he usually did during lessons, for he never could quite trust her control.

He had long ago stopped requiring she remain completely passive during lessons, realizing it was impossible for a human. For his human wife, who loved him, even as he subjected her to a form of …lovemaking…that she had never cared for. He now only required that she submit in lessons, had long ago stopped chastising her for the love that too often left her less than passive. For her own physiology that, combined with her love, made her response more than how a Vulcan would respond, and thus, less than Vulcan. She was not Vulcan. If she accepted _Pon Far_ in him, how could he be any less tolerant of her own biological imperatives?

He simply restrained her, obtaining by his own superior strength what her own control often lacked. It was what would happen in _Pon Far_. It was logical that she learn to deal with it. That he himself longed to simply make love to her was unVulcan in him. He had to master his own passions as well.

But he could not take that next step. It came to him, as he knew the next move was to reach for her wrists, to pin her anew, that he did not** want** this. That he could not do this. His mastery of his own emotions was not sufficient. Even the fear of Pon Far, that urged him to practice disciplines recommended from the time of Surak, failed him.

He paused, hesitated, resisting his own desires that threatened to overwhelm him.

It was so much easier to …damn lessons. To make love the human way. To just make love **their** way, human or Vulcan regardless, and damning all controls. All ethnocentric expectations. He knew how to please her, and she pleased him. Surely that ought to be **enough**, for any two sentient beings. Logic told him that was not necessarily true. Emotion told him he did not care.

And yet he did care for her. It was his responsibility to keep her safe.

He looked at his wife. She lay unresisting under him, her wrists crossed, waiting for him to do what he chose to her. A little tense under her assumed calm. He always chose the tenor of their lessons, choosing various scenarios as he deemed appropriate. She never could be sure until he began. Some she found more difficult than others.

Sometimes he took her quickly, with no preliminaries, as if he were in _Pon Far_, gauging her reactions, her submission, making sure when he still **had** control that she was still conditioned not to resist, so that he knew she would be safe when control failed him.

Sometimes he spent half the night caressing her, holding them both from release. He could keep them both on the edge for hours. He knew, if he cared to acknowledge it, that she disliked that more than his abrupt possessions. He had known her to plead, pleas he had ignored, to shed tears from sheer frustration, which he had also forced himself to disregard, his mother's warnings haunting him. He had promised to train his human wife, and train her he must. _Pon Far_ lasted for days. Even though then he'd not likely be holding her from release, it was possible. He had expected her to be able to withstand and submit to at least a few hours of denied desire. Surely that was not beyond the bounds of even human control. But it seemed not. It was there he discovered the first flaw in her submission. Taken past her limits, unable to bear the tension of that denied release, she had lost control. Resisted – yes, a real resistance, not a mock one of play, even though it was borne out of desire. She had lost control, panicked at the feelings overwhelming her, as her inability to withstand them. She had resisted them, and him, struggled and fought to free herself.

That he could not allow. In the madness of _Pon Far_ he would not care why she might resist. Even though lessons were designed and meant to elicit all manner of responses in a safe controlled setting, to uncover potential problems and provide opportunities to train against them, her behavior had surprised, shocked and disappointed him. He'd momentarily stopped the lesson, grateful for his own control. And still keeping her firmly pinned had scolded her soundly, fear lending weight to his words, reminding her anew of her vows and responsibilities as wife to a Vulcan, and how such behavior failed to fulfill them. Till she had cried in earnest, not in frustration but shame, as chastened as the child her control had proven her to be. As her few years made her.

And all it had merited her was more lessons. Not that they'd been a complete success.

She had learned better control over the years, having discovered what a lack of it would net her. But in spite of years of lessons, all his patient teaching, she seemed unable to master that dangerous impulse. Sometimes, holding back her response, drawing out a prolonged lesson, he still occasionally hit that fight or flight response in her, taking her unawares, startling them both, confirming his dread that he had never yet trained her against it. It was the only real circumstance in which she resisted him and it was borne out of desire, but he still could not disregard it, allow it, risk it. If he could not eradicate it from her behavior, then he must condition her not to physically resist.

In truth, such a circumstance was unlikely to occur in _Pon Far_. He'd stumbled across that response almost by accident. He'd never expected it would be an issue for them. But after seeing her limits lay there, he had no choice. In conscience he had required himself to test her control as well as his own in that circumstance. Even in full control, her behavior had shocked him deeply, to his core. It had disturbed him for days afterwards. He could not stop thinking of it. If she resisted that way during _Pon Far_ he might well kill her. There were casualties in Pon Far, understandable during a _Time_ when a Vulcan male was under a hormonal frenzy. He had to verify that she had mastered her impulses against any such futile, frantic resistance. Or if she had not, he had to give her the needful opportunity to learn such control in a safe environment. He was not a child, nor was she. This was his duty. He could resist it internally himself, mentally rail against it, even, at some level, hate the necessity that forced him to the circumstances. But he could not avoid his duty. He had taken that on, in taking a human female to wife. He must do what he could to teach her of his ways, to keep her safe.

And if she could not master it, he had to give **himself **practice in dealing with it, so that even in the fever, he would be conditioned to recognize it for what it was, and to respond in a restraining but not a violent manner.

It wasn't a pleasant lesson for either of them. In the flames of passion, he still yet always tense, wary, dreading the icy shock that washed over him with her resistance.

She had learned for the most part not to physically struggle when he brought her to that point. He'd slowly conditioned her to the futility of that, excruciatingly painful as that lesson was for them both. Now when she hit that wall, she usually expressed her emotions in tears. He had come to consider those the lesser of two evils. Tears were not submission, but he preferred them over her still occasional struggles. When he was most in control and could bear the strain, he often quite deliberately chose to bring her to those limits, ensuring that he'd conditioned her to resist, if she must, only with tears, rather than her more overt and dangerous physical resistance.

He knew, if he cared to think about it, that she feared and hated those lessons. He hated them too. But if he had learned one thing, it was that both of them powerless before his Vulcan biology.

And tried not to tell himself, all these years that all he really wanted to do was to love her. He'd been able to deny that of himself before. Now, with his secret out, his confession verbalized, his wife aware of his love, it would be doubly hard for him to hold them both to these standards.

It had not escaped him that in doing so he was quite deliberately, quite consciously striving to make his beloved wife cry. In his arms, while he caressed her. And that over the years, he'd become expert at bringing her to a level of desire and holding her there until she could no longer bear the frustration, and she hit that fight or flight panicked response. Trying to make sure that now when she hit it, she cried rather than struggled. He understood very well how to do it. Part of him loathed himself. But in spite of all this reluctance, he couldn't think what **else** to do. If there was another solution, he had racked his brain, and not come up with it. He cherished her too much to risk her, to indulge her. She might not be Vulcan, but as wife to one, some control she must learn.

He still remembered, standing in the garden with T'Pau, her telling him Amanda would reject him in _Pon Far_, and he promising that Amanda would never do that. Amanda so unhappy over his mother's rejection of her, asking, almost begging, to do anything, anything at all, to make T'Pau reconsider.

He did not think Amanda would ever reject him in _Pon Far_. But she had long ago, almost from the first days of their marriage, agreed to do…anything necessary to guard against it.

The remembered shock of her first frantic, desperate struggles against him when he'd brought her inadvertently to panic still echoed within him. Raised the specter of that possibility in _Pon Far_. No, he couldn't risk it. Some controls she **must** learn. And she had agreed. To anything. And by default, to this.

He did not consider himself unkind in teaching this control to her. He had no wish to see her cry. It was true that in lessons she never had any choice in how and when her release was granted, he was always in control. And it could also be said she had no choice if. But even when she so misbehaved as to cry tears of frustration, he always, always granted her a release. Even when she lost control and fought him, he did then too. He would never use a lesson to punish her. Indeed, that would be self-defeating, she was supposed to practice – to master- necessary controls in her lessons, but also supposed to find them fulfilling. Though he was well aware that her take on that was not what a Vulcan woman's would be.

In spite of his leniency, after the worst of those lessons she still sometimes cried afterwards. Even when she had not physically resisted, except for frustrated tears, even when he did not verbally chastise her for her lack of control, even when she was ultimately fulfilled, she still sometimes cried like a child, in shame, despair and even a little fear, after one of these most hated lessons where he tested her control, ensured that if she must lose it, she would lose it only in tears.

That he could do such a thing to her.

That she could fail him, so repeatedly, and so consistently.

It was the shame of their marriage. But the greater shame, the greater horror, the one they both quailed before was what if? What if T'Pau's prediction, the one he had always concealed from Amanda, never voiced, that loomed even larger in his mind being unvoiced between them, came true.

It haunted Sarek, and his fear haunted her. It made him more resolute. It made her, even fearing, more resolute. He had promised to train Amanda, and train her he would.

She always acquiesced. And in this one area where they were failing each other, they also forgave each other, she forgiving him the need to impose this on her, and he forgiving her for the involuntary resistance that would so shame a Vulcan bondmate. Still it left a mark on them. She was always a little tentative, a little unsure with him, after one of those most hated lessons, though she tried not to show it. And though he was outwardly unaffected, making her cry always left him deeply shaken.

How he hated it. Hated himself, in this one area, for his Vulcan nature. And yet he could not escape it, or think what else to do.

At times, he almost envied his son, bonded in childhood to a Vulcan. It was one of the reasons why he had determined to bond Spock in childhood. To a girl that he suspected would never inspire such passion in him. So that his son would never have these issues. Even as a full Vulcan, Sarek found them difficult enough to enforce. His half human son should never have to make a beloved wife cry.

Small wonder why she , why they both, preferred lovemaking to lessons. That she sometimes trembled in the latter when he took her wrists in his hands and covered her. He chose what lesson to impose, but she had gotten very good at reading him too. She usually knew when he had decided on the one they least favored.

And today, he had to confess, he was considering the latter. He own rush of desire had frightened him, and he felt the need to test both their limits of control.

He hated himself, for that too. That he was Vulcan, that he was a potential danger to her, that he must impose this on her. But he was responsible for her safety. For training her to be safe. And train her he would. Well, and truly. Irrespective of her desires, her struggles, her tears. Had he not proven in the last six months, that Vulcan biology cared nothing for love? After what had come to pass, after his flawed control, how could he not reinstate all their lessons from day one? Did he not need to retest, re-condition, doubly ensure, with Vulcan thoroughness all his controls, all her controls and responses?

And yet, the thought occurred, would not be denied, that had she also not earned, in six months as a chattel, his trust that she would submit? Had she not yielded in a far greater submission? Was it not **he** who had ultimately failed **her** and not the reverse?

He looked down at her, waiting, barely breathing, for him to start, not knowing what he planned for her, her wrists crossed, ready to be pinned and immobilized and he felt a sudden, abrupt utter loathing for himself and for what he had been about to impose.

And drew her hands down from where she had placed them over her head.

Beneath him, Amanda drew a sharp breath. He felt her shiver underneath him and she looked up at him.

"I didn't mean – I didn't say no."

He drew back a little, puzzled. "Of course you didn't."

"I didn't."

"I understand," Sarek repeated, frowning now, as his puzzlement grew.

Her eyes widened at that expression on him and she froze, drawing back a little more deeply into the bed, beginning to tremble in earnest. "Oh, please, I didn't -"

"Amanda. It is all right."

"Don't be angry, please don't be-"

"Amanda, I am not angry. I love you. Shh, my wife, it is all right now. I am in control. Amanda, listen to me-"

But she seemed beyond hearing him, beyond seeing or feeling him. He reached for her, thinking to sooth her, reassure her. And watched helplessly, stunned and uncomprehending, when she lost all control, burst into tears and cried like a child in his arms. Without a lesson, without even touching her, cried as though her heart were breaking, deaf to his assurances and pleas. He finally just held and rocked her, a deep chill sweeping through him, as he realized that even if he had recovered from _vrie_, she was definitely not all right.

And he was at a loss to know what to do.

_To be continued…_


	39. Chapter 39

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 39**

Sarek slept not a bit that night, watching his wife. And when the next morning came, the birds sang as usual, the sun shone, and Amanda stirred, sighed in her sleep, and her eyes flickered, and opened. She looked at him, and blinked, rose up on one elbow to regard him.

"Is something wrong?"

Sarek had no idea how to answer that. "Are you all right, Amanda?"

She paused in sitting up, shaking out her hair, stretching. "Why wouldn't I be?" She looked at him, and he didn't answer her, studying her as if she were utterly alien to him. "Why ever wouldn't I be?"

"I am …justifiably concerned…after your behavior last night."

"Last night?" She turned to him, puzzled, her blue eyes guileless.

"I am not angry, my wife," he assured her. "But I don't understand."

Her blond brows rose. "Neither do I. What are you talking about? What happened last night?"

"I was hoping you would clarify that for me," Sarek said. "Your behavior was …inexplicable"

"Sarek, I have no idea what you're talking about. What happened?"

He stared at her. "If this is one of your attempts at humor, my wife, this is not a subject for amusement."

"I'm not laughing either," she said, shaking her head, truly puzzled. "Sarek-"

"Do you not remember?" Sarek asked, astounded.

"Remember what?"

"You…panicked," he confessed reluctantly.

Amanda flushed. "During the lesson? I'm - well, I'm sorry."

Sarek shook his head, in amazement. "We never had a lesson, Amanda. I never even started the lesson." Seeing her eyes fixed on him, with dread and expectation he continued, "I had almost decided against one. And I drew your hands down from where you had placed them over your head. And you became agitated. You kept assuring me you were not refusing me. And in spite of my repeated acknowledgements of that fact, and my attempts to calm you, you became further agitated. Nothing I said seemed to reach you. You did not seem to **hear** me. I do not think you could even **see** me. Then you began to cry. I could not calm or soothe you. Indeed, you seemed unaware of me as you … cried yourself to sleep."

She was staring at him in shock. "I don't remember any of that."

"Indeed."

"Not **any** of it. Are you –" She shook her head, shrugging. "Of course you are sure."

"Indeed. What is the last thing you remember?"

She sat back against the pillows, staring at him. "I remember we went to bed. I remember …you were looking down at me." She shook her head again. "Nothing after that. I must have fallen asleep."

"Amanda, you did not fall asleep."

"But I have been overworking," she pointed out. "I was tired and I just-"

"You were awake when you cried yourself to sleep," he said, his voice overly sharp with worry. "Do you not remember that?"

She flinched. "Sarek, please don't." `

He subsided suddenly realizing she was trembling again. He watched her as she fought to calm herself. After a moment, he reached out and she went into his arms. He held her for a long moment, and then she drew back, pulled herself away, still restrained in his arms. "I have to get ready for school." She didn't look up at him.

"Amanda-"

"I can't tell you what happened last night, Sarek," she said, looking up at him. "I just don't know. But whatever it was, I won't let it happen again. Can you just accept that, and let it go?" Her blue eyes met his in both plea and demand. She pulled back from him again, still held by his unyielding grip. "I have six classes to teach today. I **have **to get ready. Please."

He looked down at her for a long moment, and then he loosened his hold on her, released her. He watched her slide out of bed, walk away from him. But he did not promise or agree.

And she did not insist.

Amanda let the door to her office at the Academy close behind her and shivered in the slightly cooler temperature maintained here. She went to her computer and adjusted the environmental settings to closer to Vulcan normal. Then she sat down and let her thoughts rove back to last night. To what Sarek said had **happened** last night.

But she couldn't remember. She sat there, her forehead furrowed, perspiration beading on her brow, but nothing came to her. She just didn't remember.

She drew a shaky breath. She must have fallen asleep. Sarek must be wrong. Even that thought was heresy; this was Sarek - who was **never** wrong. She forgot things, sometimes. She was only human, after all. She didn't have his eidetic memory. But she'd never forgotten something like this.

But he had just recovered from a terrible illness. Perhaps…perhaps he'd had a bad dream. Vulcans did dream. Especially near Pon Far, or when particularly emotional. It was rare, but they did. And he'd been feeling guilty.

She breathed out, sighing gratefully. He'd had a bad dream, that was all. It had never happened.

It had never happened.

Never happened.

She went off to teach her first class, relieved.

_To be continued…_


	40. Chapter 40

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 40**

At the Terran medical center, a dazzled receptionist waylaid Mark Abrams in his office. "Ambassador Sarek is here to see you."

Mark paused, non-plussed. Sarek had never come to see him. "You must mean his wife? Dr. Grayson."

"No. It's really the Ambassador," the receptionist's eyes were wide. "And he's so," her voice was reverent, and she blushed pink, and added _sotto voice_. "He looks **just** like his pictures on the newsvid."

Abrams winced at this star struck attitude, and said, "Well, he's obviously not here for an exam. Send him to my office."

Sarek came in slowly, his dark eyes looking around curiously and a little hesitantly at the various diplomas, artwork and items in the room.

Abrams was well aware Sarek was no different than most Vulcans and considered human medical techniques barbaric. He didn't need to be telepathic to realize the Vulcan ambassador had never been too sanguine about trusting his human wife to a mere physician's care.

For all their similarities that Vulcans shared with humans - and they were remarkably humanoid - there was something indefinably alien in Sarek's dark eyes, his curious, analytical gaze. In this Terran setting he seemed even more Vulcan, making Abrams doubly aware of the differences between them.

"Doctor."

"Ambassador." Abrams gestured Sarek to a seat, mentally comparing the controlled and cultured diplomat with the being who, regardless of it being from a physiological cause, had raped and nearly killed his wife, and then, based on what little he knew, had kept her a virtual prisoner for months. But he'd released her, Abrams reminded himself. He had let her go. "I take it you are not here for yourself."

"I am concerned for my wife. I understand you saw her recently for an exam."

"Yes."

"I would know the results."

Abrams sat up a little. "I'm afraid that's impossible. Medical consultations are private."

Sarek raised an eyebrow. "She **is** my wife."

"Even so, she still has a right to privacy with her physician. Unless she gives permission -"

Sarek shifted slightly, a break in his control, signaling his impatience. And the emotions within that were only restrained by his controls. There was now a faint line between his brows. "Doctor, you are entirely mistaken. My wife is a Vulcan citizen and this is Vulcan. She has no right of privacy, as you call it, which supersedes my own rights in this regard."

"She's not your possession," Abrams said stubbornly.

"In this sense, by my world's conventions, she is. Anything that affects her health, her safety, her life is mine to address. She understands that."

He grimaced at that. "Perhaps so, but I'm still a human physician and I have my own professional standards."

"And you practice here only by sanction from Vulcan authorities."

"Sarek, I should warn you I don't respond too well to threats."

"It is merely a statement of fact. If it salves your conscience you may contact my wife. I assure you she **will** confirm my assertion."

Abrams hesitated. "No doubt she would. Well, I suppose that since I have nothing to tell, there's no reason to go to that length. Your wife is in perfect health." He gave Sarek a level glance. "She's completely recovered from the …incident six months ago."

Sarek tilted his head, dark eyes surveying the physician. "I beg to disagree, Doctor."

"What do you mean?" he stayed neutral, determined to be as controlled as the Vulcan before him.

"I hoped **you** would clarify that for **me**."

"Physically I saw nothing wrong with her."

"I am not speaking of physical ills."

"We've talked before about this. Years ago. Your wife is human. She'll have human emotions. Human needs."

"Really, doctor," Sarek frowned in impatience. "I am not unaware. Nor do I speak of these natural concerns."

Abrams wondered what Sarek would consider unnatural concerns and in spite of years on Vulcan, his lack of real knowledge of Vulcans made him draw a blank. "I don't understand." Under Sarek's steady gaze he said, "When I examined her, she was in perfect health. She seemed…fine."

"She is not fine."

"I can't help if you don't speak plainly to me. I would think when it comes to your wife's health, you would not want any mistakes that resulted from ambiguity. I need to know the facts."

"A condition of my own required I keep my wife…confined…for a period." He glanced up at Mark. "I believe you were aware of this."

"Yes," Mark allowed.

"I have resolved that problem. She is now free. At first I thought she would, as you say, be …fine. She had some need to adjust to her changed state, but for the most part she was doing so with ease. And where she had some emotional issues, her reason allowed her to overcome them."

"And where is that not the case."

"Yesterday, something which had no reason to …frighten her, suddenly seemed to. And she did not respond to reason, neither hers nor my own. In fact she seemed unaware of her true surroundings. She became physically agitated. I was forced to restrain her, for she was not rational. She did not recognize or respond to me or to anything…real. And when she woke, after crying herself to sleep, she had no memory of this."

Abrams blinked at this description. "Sounds like she had a panic attack."

Sarek raised a brow at this. "I am not familiar with the phrase or the condition, but it seems an apt description. What is the cause, and cure?"

"The cause is stress. The cure is less clear-cut. She may not have another one. She may come out of this on her own. Or she may need therapy."

"Therapy." Sarek repeated the English word. Abrams could almost see him mentally translating it. "My wife has not a physical injury requiring such conditioning."

"I'm speaking of psychological counseling. Talking."

Sarek looked unconvinced. "Amanda did not hear me when I spoke to her. She did not even seem to see me. I do not see how **talking** will be effective in such a state."

"Not during the attack. Before. A personal exploration, with a therapist, that makes her aware of her emotional issues and why she has the problem. Often that is all that is needed to cure them."

Sarek's own brow creased in puzzlement. "How can this be, when she does not even remember the attack?"

"She remembers what led up to it."

Sarek looked impatient. "We are both only too aware of **that**. Doctor, what you are proposing makes no logical sense."

"Maybe not, but as it is an emotional condition, logic doesn't apply." He looked at Sarek's dark visage. "Look, Amanda didn't say anything to me about any concerns. She did seem a little…fragile…emotionally. A little tentative. But not so that I considered her unable to function. People have panic attacks all the time. Often they are never repeated. It might be nothing, Sarek."

"It is not nothing to me. I cannot have a wife who …panics."

Abrams bridled. "In sickness and in health, go our old marriage vows. She apparently saw **you** through far less than perfect health. At great cost to herself. Are you saying **you** can't do the same for **her**?"

"You misunderstand me. If that were true, I would not be here. I am a Vulcan, and she is my wife. The circumstances under which she had this attack make it impossible that the condition not be addressed."

Abrams suddenly understood. "She had it during sex."

Sarek hesitated. "No. Not quite. I chose not to-" Sarek could not bring himself to actually say the words, to a human, one whom he considered too close to a rival, "and in her believing I thought she had refused me, she …panicked."

Abrams puzzled that through, the spoken and more revealingly unspoken. "She's not allowed to refuse you?"

Sarek stared at him. "Of course not."

The human physician was startled. "Never? Not even when you're not-"

"I am still Vulcan."

Abrams drew a deep breath. "I didn't know. She's never had a problem with that, before?"

"Why should she?" Sarek seemed truly puzzled in turn at this.

Mark blinked at that. "All I can tell you, Sarek, is that most human women would probably have some issues with what you've just told me. Sex is a loaded gun at any time, and non-consensual sex, forced sex, is not something conducive to mental health. Particularly over the long term."

"I have never forced her," Sarek said, his eyes wide at that characterization.

"If she doesn't have a choice, if her consent is irrelevant, it's much the same thing."

"She made a choice," Sarek said.

"Sarek, a choice to **marry** is not the same thing."

"It is to Vulcans." Sarek responded.

"Well, as a psychiatrist as well as a physician, I can assure you to human women the two are very different in their minds." He noted Sarek's unconvinced expression but went on. "Her panic attack may be related to your recent issues, a form of post-traumatic stress. Or it could be they were just the catalyst that unburied a long standing problem. I don't know, and I think this is not something that can be easily resolved."

"What problem do you refer to?"

Abrams hesitated, then said something that had been at the back of his mind from the first time he'd heard of _Pon Far_. And examined Amanda through some of the various aftermaths. "Any women who is raped will at some level fear and hate her rapist."

Sarek drew back from the blunt words, his eyes wide. "That is… I am bonded to my wife, and I am well aware of her emotions. She does not-" he couldn't even say the word. "She loves me."

"That doesn't mean at some level she doesn't also feel some negative emotions too. Buried deep. It's the deeply buried ones that usually trip us humans up, psychologically speaking."

Sarek shook his head in refusal and denial.

"Are you saying you've never forced her against her will?" Abrams met the Vulcan's eyes in challenge. They both knew he'd attacked and severely injured his wife, and she'd nearly died from her injuries before she'd been rescued – by T'Pau, of all people. And that was only the most extreme example of a lifetime of more minor incidents. Even Vulcans didn't always make it through _Pon Far_ unscathed. A human was entirely at a disadvantage in facing a berserk Vulcan.

Sarek could not bear to think of that incident. Even avoiding that, he was plagued with memories of years of _Pon Far_ lessons, of his wife in tears as he restrained her, of his own fever-clouded and imperfect memories of _Times_ and the occasional inadvertent bruises, even injuries Amanda received during them – and out of them, too when even in full control he reacted too precipitously to some stimulus and forgot his own strength, or her relative fragility. He thought of her six months of chattel status, the restrictions and punishments he'd placed on her through no fault of her own. And had nothing to say for himself. What was normal, acceptable, behavior for a Vulcan was indefensible in a human. That much he knew well. And his recent behavior had not been normal even by Vulcan standards.

But at the back of his mind was that Amanda had said yes. She had chosen him, how could rape be a factor? And after years of bonding, she chose him again. Still. She **loved** him still. In spite of Vulcan biology and all its flaws. He could not accept that deep down, she hated him. No, if she felt that, she would have challenged him, or left, rather than agree to chattel status to save him.

But if her physician was right….if she panicked during a time …he might not be able to control his actions. His control was as nothing during those _Times_. It was what had always haunted him since T'Pau's long ago prediction. Amanda might not survive that.

And at that inadvertent thought, he felt so chilled he shivered visibly. Shuddered, past all physiological controls.

If this was new, if she hated him now, at some deep human level he could not detect, would she fight him at his next _Time_? And would his control hold? Or would he fail, as he'd failed with _vrie_, and injure her. Kill her.

Abrams said nothing for a moment too. During this entire discussion, he'd been mentally comparing what Sarek was saying with the memory of Amanda as she had been when he examined her. When Sarek shivered, he broke off his thoughts, rose in consternation and reset the environmental controls. "I'm sorry, it must be too cold in here for you."

Sarek did not bother to confess it was not the ambient temperature that had made him shiver. "I have difficulty in accepting what you tell me, but I am resolved on one point. Whatever caused her reaction it needs to be…resolved…before my next _Time_. I will **not** allow her to go into a _Time_ with me, when such panic on her part when I am insensible with the Fever, could engender a reaction in me that would jeopardize her life."

"I didn't think you had a choice, Sarek," Abrams said, non-plussed.

Sarek met his eyes, coldly determined. "There are always choices, Doctor."

Abrams drew a sharp breath at the resignation in Sarek's eyes, and his abrupt realization of what the Vulcan meant. "Look, I don't think it will need to come to **that**. And frankly, I don't think Amanda would **let** you – you're right about one thing, she loves you. She's not going to countenance anything of that sort."

"I would not tell her. There are early signs when one is about to enter that state."

"Surely the risk is so small as to not be worth that, Sarek. Think of Amanda. She wouldn't be able to live with herself, afterward."

"But she **would** live," Sarek insisted. "She would live and find someone else to love. Someone," Sarek said the words bluntly, "who wouldn't force and rape her."

Mark was appalled at how swiftly this conversation had taken such a devastating turn. "I didn't say you did that. Certainly not deliberately. Sarek, Amanda would never forgive me if she thought I turned you to such thoughts."

"And if she behaved in such a way in a _Time_, I might not be able to prevent myself from killing her. How easily would you forgive yourself then?" Sarek raised an eyebrow. "I would not survive long afterward anyway. That I know well. I prefer not to risk her life."

"There has to be other solutions."

"Indeed. The traditional Vulcan solutions, which involve training and conditioning to prepare for Pon Far, are what you **now** tell me are damaging her. You leave me no other choice."

"I didn't say that. Exactly."

"Your implications were plain."

"My implications don't matter. What matters more are her choices – and she's stayed with you, in love, for twenty years."

"And based on your analysis, suffering from post traumatic stress from the effect of those years."

"Again, if that is true, and we don't really know that yet, we can do something about it. We can deal with the panic attacks too, if they reoccur. This is **not** an insurmountable problem, Sarek. And she **does** love you."

Sarek hesitated then said, very quiet and controlled, "If I have learned anything in the last six months, Doctor, it is that love is immaterial in regard to Vulcan biology."

"Wasn't it her love, and her commitment, that got you both through that?"

Sarek shivered again at that. "Yes, it was. But at a cost apparently higher than either of us realized."

"So you're going to invalidate her sacrifice? Throw away your accomplishment? She wouldn't approve."

Sarek tilted his head. "That implies her approval is even relevant. I do not agree. And as you say, your consultations are private. You will **not** speak of this to her."

"Doesn't she have the same rights as you claim regarding lack of privacy?"

"No."

Abrams shrugged. "You're blunt enough about it. Look, one thing you may not understand about humans is that they occasionally have irrational emotional reactions. It's normal for humans to express their emotions, even if it is disconcerting for the Vulcans who love them. It doesn't have to be the end of the world. Or your marriage **or** your **life**. We don't even fully understand the situation; I haven't even spoken to her, much less evaluated her professionally in that regard. I don't make **any** decisions based on a ten minute conversation with a third party. Nor should **you**. Neither of us Sarek, have all the facts. That wouldn't be logical, would it, to proceed on any path without having them?"

Sarek hesitated, then reluctantly agreed. "No."

"I'll talk to her."

"I do not wish you to-"

"Not professionally. Not at first. I'll just …engage her in conversation. Take her temperature, so to speak. See if I can get her to agree to come in to see me. The question is, how to manage it. I don't cross paths with her the way I used to."

Sarek tilted his head at that. "What do you mean?"

"I used to see her at the Embassy pool. She'd come and swim early in the mornings, before her classes, and I had the same schedule, when it wasn't interrupted by emergencies. We used to chat, say hi. Casual meetings. I don't know of any other way to run into her. But she stopped coming after the…well, after she felt unwelcome. I never see her at all, anymore, except for the formal functions you attend together. And there's none scheduled."

"What do you mean, unwelcome?" Sarek asked.

"She never said anything to you?"

"Obviously, or I would not ask."

"This was a long time ago, Sarek. Amanda got caught in the middle, sometimes, between Vulcan and Federation political interests – and for the latter, read human, since the Federation is still mostly human dominated."

"That is changing."

"Yes, and you well know it can stir high emotions in humans. When she first came here, Amanda was looked on as a potential ally – in the enemy camp – so to speak by the embassy staff. Someone on the inside, who could persuade you to human favorable positions."

"They thought this of Amanda?" The astonishment in Sarek's voice would have been amusing, if the subject weren't so unpleasant.

Abrams shrugged. "They had their reasons. Let's say she quickly dissuaded them. And became as quickly unwelcome. She stopped coming after that. It was a shame, she liked to swim, she needed friends, and she lost both, on top of being shunned by the embassy staff."

Sarek thought of his wife, shunned by both human and Vulcans, and never saying a word to him of any of this. "The staff has changed over, several times, since Amanda first came to Vulcan."

"And she's never changed her attitude, or her reputation. She's _persona non grata_ there Sarek, and she knows it." Seeing Sarek's face, he shook his head. "Frankly, the people who shunned her weren't worth her notice anyway. It's not politic for her to be friends with the humans at the embassy anyway; something of a conflict of interest, and she knows that. That doesn't help her either, that her loyalties are more to you than among species lines. But it doesn't matter anymore. There are enough humans on Vulcan now, outside of political circles, that she has other sources for human friends."

Sarek wondered at that. He knew humans had friends, but Amanda seldom spoke to him of hers, rarely invited friends home. He was guilty, he knew, of being less than accommodating to her need for friendship. He was too possessive. Part of it was simply that they had to attend innumerable social functions as part of his duties as Federation ambassador, for so much of Federation politics seemed to be conducted under the guise of social functions, long before one sat down to negotiating tables, that he felt surfeit of such associations, and in no mood to countenance them on the nights they had free. Not that he had ever forbidden or outwardly discouraged Amanda from such contacts. But she seemed to know even what he left unspoken.

"It's just a shame she also lost her chance to swim. She loved it. And it was good exercise. Good for her, particularly in this gravity, there's little else that's as low impact. I strongly recommend it for all Terrans on Vulcan for that reason alone."

"To swim." Sarek turned his mind to this. "I am not very familiar with this activity."

"Surely you've heard of it."

"Yes, of course," Sarek was frowning. "I am aware humans do this." He spoke of humans as if they were something totally foreign to him, as if he were not bonded to one. Mark had noticed this about him before. There was Amanda. And there were all other humans. Sarek didn't seem to regard Amanda as being any model for or example of other humans. It was if she were completely separate and apart. "It is Terran skill, one of recreation."

"More than that, as I said, it is good exercise. And aside from the physical health benefits, exercise is also good for emotional health, in that it provides stress relief."

"Indeed. If it is something Amanda enjoys, I would not see her denied it," He looked at Mark. "Particularly if as you say, it is recommended for her health." He flicked an eyebrow in concurrence. "I suppose this _pool_ is a thing easily constructed."

Mark's eyes widened at that. He'd forgotten how quickly Vulcans could make decisions. "Well, relatively easily, if not inexpensively." When Sarek seemed unimpressed by that, he ventured. "You can probably use the same firm that Terraformed your gardens."

"Yes. Thank you for the suggestion, Doctor. I shall contact them to discuss a proposal."

"In the meantime, if you refuse to talk to her about this, and won't let me approach her directly, I'll think of some way to …waylay…her …privately, and try and get her to talk about this. Come in for a few sessions, see where we stand."

"Very well."

"But Sarek, if she has another panic attack, then you **have **to get her in to see me. At that point, it won't be an option. You'll have to insist on it, and if she refuses, well, even under human laws there are ways to force someone to seek help."

Sarek raised a brow at that. "Force is what you considered caused the problem to begin with."

"We don't know that. Let's not conjecture without facts. And sometimes force **is **necessary to ensure someone stays safe."

"Indeed. That dilemma has always been **my** paradox, Doctor," Sarek said, as he took his leave.

And considering the irony of that, Abrams sighed.

_To be continued..._


	41. Chapter 41

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 41**

Amanda hadn't resolved her own troubling behavior, but one thing that was troubling her she felt could be resolved. She didn't like being guarded and she was sure it wasn't helping her peace of mind. She raised the subject during an after dinner walk. "Sarek, isn't it time to let Sascek go?"

"I wasn't aware you were keeping him prisoner."

"That's not funny. I meant go back to T'Pau."

"Is he being disrespectful?"

"He's perfectly polite and courteous. That's not the point. He's also unnecessary."

"I tend to disagree, my wife."

"But there's hardly **any** reporters tagging me anymore. Certainly nothing I can't handle."

"But there are still some. Until that passes, I believe you need Sascek."

"I don't. I'm tired of being followed by a pack of palace guards. Everywhere I go. **Everywhere** I go. Even here, within our home, Sascek is always around."

"He is doing nothing his role does not require."

"No reporter is going to get me in here. And I never knew a camera was so dangerous it required a phaser toting guard."

"It is not merely the reporters I am concerned about."

"You haven't heard of anything have you? Security wise?"

Sarek met her eyes reassuringly. "Nothing specific."

"Well then. I don't see the point."

"Vulcan is hardly convenient to Terra, and there have been those antagonistic to Vulcan/Human interactions before. They may not show up on our doorstep immediately. I prefer to be prudent, in this regard."

"**You **can be prudent all you want. **I'm** the one stuck with the guards. Inside and out. That's ridiculous. I…I don't like it."

"I believe you were becoming rather fond of Sascek."

"That's not what I meant. I was fond of I-Chiya too, but I wouldn't have wanted him following me to school each day. Or tagging behind me here."

"Indeed. Regardless, Sascek's duties will remain unchanged." He said it in the emphatic mode that brooked no argument.

She drew up, disbelieving and dismayed at his uncompromising attitude, barely striving to master her astonishment. And her discontent.

"Amanda."

She forced herself to meet his eyes.

"You are displeased."

"You just implied you didn't care whether I would be displeased or not."

"That Sascek's duties remain unchanged, yes. That you are displeased…I do care. Very much."

"Then at least call him off here. Please? It's upsetting to me."

"No."

She stared at him, astonished, and then she bridled. "Is this the keeper, the full time Vulcan guard you once said I needed? Well, I don't." She looked at him, trembling, thinking of her various troubles since being released, and still stubborn enough to claim, "I don't!"

"Amanda. It is not that." Seeing her unconvinced, he added, "Believe me, my wife, this is necessary. I will not have you 'tagged', as you say, any longer than is required."

She stared at him, her suspicions coalescing. "What do you mean, necessary? You said there was no particular reason?"

"Amanda-"

"You're **always** precise with words, what do you mean by **necessary**?"

"Nothing specific." He looked at her, not wanting to burden her, to distress her further with unproven suspicions. "Just prudence."

"Sarek …I know there's something you're not telling me."

Sarek eyed her, then shrugged lightly. "Perhaps nothing of consequence."

"But it has consequences for me. Unpleasant, constant consequences."

"Amanda, enough. Sascek is not interfering in your activities; he is merely ensuring your safety."

"Safety from what? Sarek you told me, you promised me, that I wouldn't have guards on Vulcan. Now you are saddling me with them, even at home. Can't you even tell me why?"

"It should be enough that I require it of you. You will accept this." He gave her a meaningful look. "Do you understand?"

She stared at him, frustrated, resentful, and utterly powerless. When he gave her an order, in the emphatic mode, by Vulcan tradition, she was virtually required to obey. And he knew that she knew, that so close to _vrie_ she'd come as close to challenging him on this as she dared.

"Amanda…"

"I don't understand. Can't…can't you offer any reasonable explanation to help me understand?"

"Amanda. I know nothing…definite. And I would prefer not to indulge in speculation. For the present, all the understanding I require of you is that you must yield to my directive." He couldn't be any plainer than that.

Amanda winced, thinking of the precedents this sort of thing set in her life. Thinking of Reny, Mark, even T'Pau, telling her that Sarek was too often overbearing in this regard. She knew she yielded too much in these things, that she ought to be able to discuss issues more reasonably with her Vulcan husband, that he had no right to hold her to Vulcan standards when she was human. Well, none of them were married to Sarek. They didn't have her experiences. Or consequences. And maybe she was, once again, doing the wrong thing, but she lowered her gaze and gave Sarek the response he demanded. "Can you at least tell me if it has anything to do with me? It's not because you don't trust me, is it?"

Sarek stared at her in astonishment. "How can you think such a thing?"

Amanda bit back a retort that how could she think otherwise. Twenty years of living with Sarek's attitude that she was barely competent in some matters. That he castigated her often for carelessness. That he and his whole Vulcan society still too often held the mistaken impression that one needed at least sixty years of living to be free of benevolent intervention. And that she'd just come off of six months where she'd sorely lost her confidence and competence in many aspects of her life and was still struggling to reclaim them. To answer such a question opened a whole raft of dialogue she didn't feel capable of engaging in. Certainly not as tentative as she presently felt, and with her Vulcan husband, renowned and formidable in logical debate. In her present state, he'd mop the floor with her.

Sarek took her silence amiss. "You are angry with me."

She sighed, her anger leaving her as quickly as it had come. "Not really. I won't deny that I was, for a minute. I don't like being guarded. But if this is what is needed, for whatever reasons you can't or won't tell me, then I'll accept it. And I won't be angry."

Sarek studied her for a moment, evaluating her. "But you will be…unhappy."

To anyone else, his voice would have been utterly expressionless. But she'd lived with Vulcans long enough to read every nuance of meaning in their expressions, in their tones. There was a trace of regret, of unutterable disappointment, in his voice that made her turn, searching his eyes. For a long moment, she regarded him, and then she said, vowed, promised, "I won't be unhappy."

"You don't like guards."

"No," she admitted. "I don't. But I also told you long ago, that only I can make me unhappy. And I've gotten…used to having them. I don't dislike then enough to let their presence make me unhappy." She sighed. "How can I be unhappy, now, my husband? You're well again. I'm well." She gave him a look at that. "I **am** well. Yes, I had a little …trouble…adjusting, but I understand that now. And I'm dealing with it. I will deal with it. And as for the guards, if you say they are necessary …then they're necessary. And I will be happy." She gave him a determined smile. "Sarek, it's all **right**."

For a moment he studied her, then he lowered his eyes, almost in relief. "Thank you, my wife."

She looked at him, astonished, and …moved. Thanks were illogical. Sarek never **thanked** her. He'd learned to apologize to her, though Vulcans didn't have the concept. He'd learned to say "thank you" in social situations where to not say it would be offensive. But he'd never "thanked" **her** before. Not like this. But before she could even say anything, or think what to say, he took his leave.

And Amanda looked after him, wondering what in the world, this world, was going on

_To be continued..._


	42. Chapter 42

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 42**

In some, perhaps most matters, Sarek was nothing if not efficient. Following his discussion with Mark, he'd contacted the firm who'd Terraformed Amanda's gardens, they'd submitted several designs, and he'd signed off on one. And then he had more or less forgotten about it. The construction had been a matter of only a few days. Busy as she was, Amanda had had little time to go too deeply into her gardens. When they walked in the evenings, Sarek drew her away from that area, as much from the dust and other unpleasant aspects of construction as for anything else. He had no real conception, not a human one, of keeping it a secret, or of it being a surprise. He simply didn't see any point in troubling her with details until the construction was completed. So it had gone on unnoticed by her. And one day he'd been informed all was done, and it remained only for Amanda to be notified. He'd been forced to work late that evening. So it wasn't until the next morning he had an opportunity to inspect the work and inform Amanda.

That morning, he waylaid her before breakfast. "Would you come with me, my wife?"

She looked up at him curiously. "What is it?"

"Something I wish to show you." He took her hand, drew her to her feet.

"But Sarek, I have to get ready for -"

"There is time. I want you to see this first. Put on some shoes, we must walk through the rose garden. There will be thorns."

She sighed, but slid into a shift and sandals, and went along with him, half smiling. "You are being very mysterious. All right, I'll play." She tucked her arm within his. "Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

He took the question seriously, holding her hand as they walked through gardens heavy with the scent of roses, even though he knew her remark was more than half in jest. "I would say more of the latter, in that it is neither alive, nor edible, at least not as food. But it is somewhat elemental."

"Elemental," she considered that as she followed him deeper into the gardens. "And out here." She took his arm anew, flinching against him as a gusty breeze blew a branch of roses cascading down. "Watch out, those thorns are vicious."

Sarek frowned, pulling her to his other side, his arm tight around her. "The gardeners are entirely remiss in their duties. Surely these roses should be cut back more. I will speak to them."

"Roses grow like weeds here, and they don't like to cut them back, it's the Vulcan in them. The roses just need tied, or better staked to the trellis. Terran flowers don't grow sedately in place, and these don't twine on their own. To get back to your question. Let me guess…one of the gardeners struck dilithium under the rose beds?"

"Not quite." Sarek paused on the last turning, the path to the pool. "Now, close your eyes."

"Sarek!"

"You said you would play, my wife."

"Oh, very well." She closed them and let him lead her by the hand blindly the last dozen yards. He stopped and looked around checking to make sure everything was in order.

"Can't I open them yet?" Amanda stood where he'd left her, her eyes dutifully closed.

"Not yet. Stay there." He eyed his gift. Approached it doubtfully. Filled with water, the pool suddenly seemed bigger, deeper, more daunting than it had when he had last seen it, as just an elaborately tiled mosaic lined pit.

Eyes still closed, Amanda tilted her head, one hand outstretched. "I hear water. And I can smell…" her nose wrinkled, "chlorine? What is it, a new fountain?"

"You are cheating." Sarek said, without rancor, more than half distracted by his sudden unease with the pool. A breeze blew across it, rippling the water. It seemed even more ominous after that.

"You only told me to close my eyes, not my other senses." She held out her hand to him blindly, and took half a step forward. "Come, what are we waiting for?"

"You are impatient," Sarek reproved, but he was well aware that his delay now was solely due to an unease that a few moments more waiting wasn't going to dissipate. He came back to her, and took her hand in his. "Very well, you may open them."

She did, and her eyes widened. "A pool!" There was wonder and delight in her voice. And then, without any preliminaries, before Sarek could say a word, she kicked off her sandals, undid the simple shift she was wearing, took the needed few steps to the tiled edge of the pool, raised her arms over her head, and dove in.

Sarek took a step forward, half in protest and then drew back again just as quickly as drops flew from her dive. Then he just watched, wide eyed as his wife went under the water. And stayed submerged, swimming away from him. Somehow, his logic had overlooked the fact that if he were going to give his wife a pool, then she **would** swim in it.

That she would swim in it **under** the water. All that cold, wet, heavy, suffocating water.

He felt his heart start to pound, his breath come short. Water. Such a treacherous element. He was Vulcan, and watching his wife swim in water he felt something akin to imagining her walking into a vacuum of space unprotected. One could not survive submerged in water. Given the choice between Earth's oceans and Vulcan's deserts he was firmly of the opinion that deserts were far superior. After all, one did not drown in sand. It did not leave one drenched and cold and shivering, and …

He watched uneasily as she swam to the far side of the pool, hair flying behind her like a flag, moving swift as a sea creature, as if this were her element. He tried to tell himself it was her element, and utterly failed to be convincing to himself. It came to him that he wanted her out of there. Now. She touched off the fall wall, turning in a somersault, and came back, surfacing in a ripple of water.

She held out a coaxing hand to him, beaming. "It's wonderful. Come in."

He drew back a pace from her dripping hand, shaking his head emphatically, appalled at the notion, far more likely to drag her out of it than to enter himself. "No."

"But it's as warm as a bathtub. Warm enough even for you – whoever set the heater controls was thinking Vulcan, and with the sun on it too-. Oh, come on, it's lovely, try it."

"I think not. I had the pool built for you my wife."

She sighed, turned and dove under the water again.

"Amanda!"

She resurfaced, shaking the water dripping from her hair out of her eyes, treading water, looking at him quizzically. He had drawn forward again, unable to stop himself as she went under the surface.

"Can you not – can you not swim **over** the water? With your head above it?"

"It's faster to swim under."

"You are surely not going anywhere that requires speed."

She laughed as if he had made a joke. "I wasn't planning to swim the channel today. But why-" She stared at him, suddenly noticing his unease. "It **bothers** you?"

He debated several different answers and settled on the truth, "Yes."

She hesitated, eyeing him, then without a word came out.

He gave her his hand, taking her wet one in his, shivering inwardly. _What had possessed him to give her such a gift?_

Amanda seemed to be thinking the same thing. "If it bothers you, why ever did you have it built?"

Sarek reminded himself again he had done it for her pleasure. And she obviously had found pleasure in the gift. "I did not realize that it would…bother me. Until I saw you-" he trailed off.

"Oh." She hesitated, considering that. "Why not try it, then you'd see how nice it is? It's lovely, really. And good exercise. I could teach you to swim in no time. I taught-" She swallowed the forbidden name. "Even **Vulcans** can swim."

"Amanda, it will never be nice to me."

She smiled a trace, coaxingly, pushing back her hair, still streaming rivulets of water. Taking both his hands in her wet ones and trying to draw him a pace forward. "Oh, come on, give it a chance. We can skinny-dip. Even you would like that. And you told me you'd given up 'never'."

He dug in his heels, refusing to move. "Not in this case. Nothing will induce me. And I confess, it doesn't seem safe to me, to see you …under… that water."

"Under…" she stopped her fruitless tugging at him, and straightened. "Sarek, it's just another swimming stroke. No different than swimming over. It's a lot easier, in fact. Less resistance."

"Nevertheless, I don't like it." Even as he said it, he heard in his voice the trace of a tone that echoed a demand. A command. And she recognized it too, looked at him, concerned, seemingly realizing for the first time that he wasn't merely reluctant.

"I don't want to…to upset your control."

He bridled at that, all the more for the hint of unwelcome truth in it. His wife could sometimes be said to be too perceptive. "My control is well enough. You needed continually concern yourself with that." And then watched her tense anew at the sharpness of his tone. She gave him a hurt look, then looked away, flushing, as if regretting even that much license. She finally lowered her gaze, as if she didn't know what else to do. He drew himself up in contrition as he watched her watched her tense and then just barely, begin to tremble. And it was not the water on her skin or the breeze making her shiver. "Amanda, I am sorry."

"So am I. I didn't mean to be… to be shrewish," she said, still with her head down.

"You were not. It is a valid concern of yours, considering our past history."

"I regret displeasing you."

He drew a sharp breath in shock at this, a page right out of her six months of chattel status. "Amanda, you do not need to do this."

"I…" she looked up at him, back at the pool, then up at him again. "I don't know what you want now. Tell me how you **want **me to behave."

For a moment, he was almost too shocked to answer. "I do not wish to dictate your behavior."

"You don't want to-" she was shocked so deeply it drew her right out of the chattel behavior she'd inadvertently fallen back into. "You don't want to dictate my behavior? Since **when**?"

"Amanda-"

"No, I mean it. Who have I been living with all this time? Since when? Twenty years of _Pon Far_ lessons, six months of chattel status, not to mention all the other daily little - from the way I wear my hair to the way I behave in bed, much less in public! And you stand there with a straight face and tell me that you **don't** dictate my behavior? Are you out of your Vulcan -"

"Amanda!" He was shocked in turn. She so rarely got angry with him, or so rarely showed that anger. And now it was if it all came pouring out. And he didn't deny she had, perhaps, a right to be angry, but he feared her vituperative words might spark something in him in turn.

She flinched, subsided, glared at him, then whatever she saw there made her quickly duck her head, turning a little away from him, upset and yet still half afraid to be upset with him.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

"I meant," Sarek said after a moment, striving to keep his voice gentle, "that I had no wish to control your behavior in this context."

She didn't look up. Then after a moment, she muttered, "Context being everything."

He had nothing to say to such a truism.

She finally met his gaze, embarrassed herself at her lack of control and nonetheless striving for some dignity in spite of it.. "As you can see, I am …presently… having a little trouble with …context."

"I regret my gift, intended to give pleasure, has resulted in contention between us."

She looked down again, as if he'd rebuked her. He understood her emotions and his words well enough to know he had, as Amanda would have called it, deliberately 'guilted' her. And that his choice to do so, in addition to everything else she was feeling, had now brought her close to tears. Or torn between tears and an even greater resentment.

"Amanda-"

But she shook her head, avoided his reaching hand, bent down to pick up her shift, drawing it around her and then …ran from him.

For a moment, he was so shocked at that, he could not move. He was surprised at the wrench it caused his control, seeing her run…away… from him. To force himself to not react in a precipitous manner. All of this, his fear, their harsh words, her anger, and now her running from him was too much. Not for his control, not yet, but his fear of some breach of his control. Breathing harshly, he went through all the appropriate disciplines before …not pursuing her, that was too dangerous even as a thought, but went seeking her out.

He found her on the balcony of their suite. She had discarded the damp shift and drawn a wrap around herself, but had not done anything about her wet hair, which gave her the look of a mermaid. He forced himself to ignore the voice that told him he didn't like **that **either. And after giving her the pool he'd have to resign himself to more of it. But that was the least of his issues.

"Amanda, you should not have run."

"So much for not wishing to control my behavior," she threw at him before she could stop herself. And then stared at him, half defiant, half afraid of the reaction she'd courted.

He held himself in check, regarding her for a moment, reminding himself that unpleasant as it might be for him, her contention was actually healthy, for her. "Very well, I concede as to that."

She looked away again, her face flushing. "I don't want to be right, Sarek. I'm not trying to win some argument with you. Nor to fight with you. I just want to…to live."

That remark struck him to the quick. To the core. Part of him knew she did not mean what her words implied, that she was speaking of lifestyle, not the implication that she suspected him of that ultimate betrayal. And yet perhaps her words were not entirely mischosen and there was, even if unconsciously a subtle reference there. At least, he reacted as if it were so.

"I was not aware that you were not. If you believe I am preventing that, and you wish to leave, I will let you go." He regarded her coolly, "My control is still good. Though I cannot guarantee it will continue. I can yet call the spaceport."

She raised her eyes to his, shocked. "Oh, that was **low**. You can be vile, Sarek."

He knew it was, yet something in him made him twist the knife. "You had best leave now, while I can still fulfill that promise."

"That is one of the most hateful things that you have ever said to me. And I **don't** forgive you it."

He drew himself up. He had kept her as a chattel for six months, denied her everything, threatened her life, and he **had **done so then, punished her harshly for the slightest infraction of his rules, and this **ridiculous **exchange was what she chose not to forgive. If he ever thought he could understand his human wife, now he felt less convinced of it than ever. The things he held himself accountable for, the things that he deeply regretted, whose memories bathed him in shame, seemed as nothing to her, and instead she fixated on his minor losses of temper, his occasionally thoughtless words. He glowered a bit at the injustice of it, even more than the illogic. "You did not have the same reaction when I first made that offer."

"When you said it then, you didn't mean it as an **insult**."

"And you should not have run from me." She didn't reply, glowering but silent in tacit concession to his statement. He regarded her almost dispassionately. Or at least striving for the same. "It was a foolish, childish, dangerous thing to do, Amanda, and if the past six months taught you nothing else, it should have taught you that. You know better. Do not test, do not tax my control with such behavior in future. If you are going to run, my wife, you had best run far. And fast. And I strongly urge you to do so **now**."

She flinched, and looked up at him, half warily. "Keep saying it, and you will make me think you really **want** me to go."

"You know better than that as well. I will let you go, against my will, where I would not before. But you had best go while I still **can** control. You are well aware there is a cycle to these things, and we are now at the midway point, where my control is strongest. But in a very few months the cycle will begin its downslope and I will not have you believe you can continue to behave in this childish fashion with impunity. I am Vulcan. My control will not remain this inviolate forever."

"Stop it, Sarek. I don't like being threatened."

"I can't help that."

"Oh," she twisted as if she found it all unbearable. "I am **so** tired of you holding _Pon Far_ over my head like it was some dire **threat**."

"Like **some** sort of threat? Why can I never make you understand. Amanda, it **is** a threat—"

"Oh, for - no, it **isn't**. It never has been. How I wish you'd just…get over that. When have we ever had a problem in _Pon Far_? Don't you Vulcans realize how **melodramatic** you can be about all of it?"

He stared at her, stunned. "How can you ask that?"

"You act as if I've never been through a _Pon Far_ – I'm there **with** you. I'm more there **than** you – you're half out of your head with Fever. You never seem to remember that **I'm** the one with the control and in my right mind. Take it from someone who was there and who wasn't delirious. We're fine in _Pon Far_. And I've never been scared, not really. You've never tried to hurt me. I've never had a problem."

"As you say, you are not out of control. Provided you have been well trained before. And I have made every effort to ensure -"

"**I'll** say," she agreed in a low voice.

He ignored that. "To ensure that you are well trained. Therefore is **my** control that is most questionable in a _Time_."

"The last six months aside, you haven't really been at issue either. You've never tried to hurt me. At worst, sometimes you get a little **clumsy**. Hardly the end of the world."

"That is a serious understatement."

"How would you even **know**?"

"Regardless, the last six months are entirely the point. How can you even begin to question any control I need to impose, after what we have been through?"

"Sarek, I want us to get past that. If you're now going to hold that over my head, as well as _Pon Far_, I'm not sure I can bear it. **Please**don't."

He hesitated. "Amanda… I **don't **wish to be unbearable. And I would also wish to …get past…the last six months. I am just not sure how I can …disregard it. I …feel …that I must take every reasonable precaution."

"Your reason is nothing more than fear. We will **never** get past it if you keep throwing it at me like some dire fate. That is not who we are." She frowned at him. "Why can't you trust me? My dear husband, how many times do I have to tell you that I **choose** to stay with you, before you actually believe me? Do I have to start each day telling you that anew? When I sleep with you every night, do you need me to also add I'm doing it because I love you? What **am** I not making clear? Just let me know, write me a script, tell me what I'm missing, and I'll **do **it. I'll do anything. Surely I've proven that after all this time."

He looked at her sullenly. "Are you quite finished?"

"That's no answer. Is it just because I'm human that I am so untrustworthy?"

"Now you are insulting **me**, Amanda. And I do not care for it."

"I'll bet you enjoy it just as much as I do your attempts to insult and guilt me. That you actually threatened to send me away because I got upset in an argument! Sarek, this is the behavior that frightens me, threatens me, not how you behave in _Pon Far_. Can't you see that? See what it is doing to us? Can't you just trust me in this? Trust me a little? Even try?"

"Your recent behavior was hardly trustworthy."

"I was upset. I didn't mean it the way you have taken it."

"It is hardly indicative of trust."

"It was indicative of the fact that I'm frustrated. Twenty years of Pon Far lessons, six months of chattel status and you still don't trust me. We are neither of us paragons of trust." She sighed. "Let's just stop it, okay? It's ticking both of us off, and **neither** of us have the temperament for it."

He sighed and sat beside her. "That much is true. But your terms are misleading. I would never send you away. It was you who ran from me this morning. I can only construe you did so with meaning, if not intent."

"Oh, Sarek," she shook her head. "A moment's stress does **not** a life decision make. You **know** that." She looked across at his unconvinced expression, and shook her head, at sea herself. "I don't understand…any of this. I confess that you have completely confused me. I don't know what to think." When he refused to reply, she sighed. "How **did **we get here, from where we started?" She added, "I meant this morning, not our whole marriage."

He was silent, then admitted, grudgingly, "Seeing you swim under the water distressed me."

"Of all the ridiculous – Sarek, I am a **good **swimmer. I am perfectly competent. I had a lifeguard's certificate when I was in school. True, I haven't had much practice living here on this **sand dune** of a planet. But I certainly wasn't going to **drown**."

He flinched. "Don't even speak of such things."

She stared at him wonderingly. "It really does bother you."

"I have no cultural conception of large bodies of water, Amanda. Seeing you in, or underneath, such an element, constitutes a threat to me. It is not conducive to my peace of mind. Not at all."

"Why ever did you have the pool built then?" She asked in frustrated astonishment.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Sarek said, crossly.

"To set me up to displease you?"

He drew a sharp breath at this injustice. "That was not my intention, and again, I apologize. I was intending to please **you**. Clearly, I was not thinking logically."

"Sarek!"

"That was," he shook his head, "an exceptionally poor sequence of statements. I meant, I was not thinking logically to build a pool, when-" He drew a breath, meeting her eyes. "I did not consider it fully when I thought to have it constructed."

"Why did you think of it?"

Sarek hesitated a moment, then admitted reluctantly, "Your physician…told me you used to swim at the Terran Embassy, and that he no longer saw you there."

"That was a long time ago."

"Yes." He didn't mention it was a recent conversation. "I confess I ordered it without considering my own reactions, and never looked at it when it was being constructed. Thus I had no conception what **seeing** you in such an element would engender in me, until…I did see you."

"I think I understand," she said doubtfully. "I suppose you couldn't consider something you had no prior experience with. But Sarek, it really is just water. You might not feel it was so threatening, you might realize how harmless it is, you might even **like** it, if you tried it. Oh, please? Just once? I could teach you to swim so easily. It would be fun."

A shudder escaped his rigid control "Never." He said it with the emphatic inflection.

"I thought you 'had done with never'."

"When it comes to immersing myself in large bodies of water… **never**. Don't ask me again."

"Large - it's just a little swimming pool, not the Atlantic Ocean."

"You will never go in any ocean, Amanda," he looked at her, not even bothering to disguise the threat in his statement. His utterly purely Vulcan panic at the thought of the vast stretches of water that covered her home planet. And of her in them. Surely there were few perils greater than to be swallowed up by those deep seas. "Never. All my control aside, I could not bear it."

"You are stubborn, my husband. And don't try to change the subject. Not that I haven't swam in both the Atlantic **and** the Pacific. And emerged safe and sound, surviving well enough to come live here with you in this desert."

"And you never will again," Sarek said, not caring how it sounded.

"When was the last time either of us were even **on **Earth? We are not discussing oceans, only a little pool. A nice warm **little**-"

"No," Sarek said, stubborn, unreasonable and caring not one whit that he was so. "It is large enough to drown in. And only if you were drowning, will I ever enter it. And once we were both out of your nice warm little pool, I would see it filled with sand, and never let you engage in such an activity again. I am, in fact, entirely tempted to have it filled with sand now before you can do harm to yourself. Now that I consider the full ramifications of this gift, I am utterly appalled at my abysmal lack of judgment in having such a thing constructed."

She sighed and gave up trying to convince him to learn to swim. "You are like a cat, my husband."

"A cat? A lematya?"

"They don't like to swim either." She eyed him. "If I were very mischievous, I would push you in. Or pretend to be drowning and trick you in. For two credits I just might."

"You will not." Seeing her speculative gaze, he gave her a warning glance. "Don't even consider it. Indeed, if you wish to retain this gift, Amanda, you will be on your very best behavior."

She gave up the notion, well aware that - in this, at least - her Vulcan husband had no sense of humor. "Spoil sport. All right. I'll be careful. Scout's honor." She raised a hand, palm up, wickedly splaying her fingers in a Vulcan salute. "I promise."

Sarek was unmoved by this teasing. "You are never careful, my wife. You drive me to distraction with every breath you take. I am never free from concern regarding your foolishly, childishly careless ways. You would need a keeper, a full time Vulcan guard, shadowing your every move, before I could even remotely be easy in my mind on the issue of your safety. I question my judgment having such a thing constructed for a wife who can barely walk from one end of the garden to another without getting scratched or bruised or discovering a pair of nearly full grown pre-venomous lematya cubs."

"That's unfair. That was years ago," she protested. "I'd just gotten here. When are you going to get over it?"

"When you begin to display even the slightest sense of responsibility for your careless ways. And in spite of that…"

"Yes?" she asked guardedly.

"When I get over you, which will be never." He marred the latter part of what might have been a pretty speech with a dark glare.

She could bridle at the tacit insult in his words, but such a confession from Sarek was rare indeed, and in a more rational frame of mind herself, she recognized his sulking glower for what it was, and not for what she had, even unconsciously, feared. If nothing else delineated that she was no longer a chattel, that he didn't think of her as such, it was her husband creating such a gift for her, in spite of all the powerful and compelling instincts that must make him want to keep her safe at all costs. She sighed, half laughing, half she wasn't sure what, pitying him for the contradictions he must be feeling right now. By Vulcan standards, she supposed was careless, though she bridled at the insult to humans such a conviction on his part implied. But she well knew how her occasional careless _accidents_ upset him. All things considered, he really did very well. Vulcan biology and _Vrie _included. Leaning over, she kissed him. "I really do love you, my husband. Down to your Vulcan toes, and in spite of your hydrophobia. And I do thank you both for the thoughtfulness, and the thoughtlessness, of your gift."

He drew back fractionally. "And you will not swim under the water."

She looked up at him, making a face. "Oh, please don't be tiresome. I didn't promise that. And I **won't**. It's a totally illogical request. Just get over it."

"I think you do not realize how much you require of **me**, my wife."

She looked up at him, gauging his control. "You never will if you don't try. Anyway, what happened to you not trying to control my behavior?"

"Touché."

"I'm not trying to best you in logic, Sarek. Just…" she eyed him and modified her original words, "get through the day. But in return for your allowing it, I won't swim underwater when you are **watching**. So at least you're spared the unpleasant sight of it. Deal?" She kissed him again, more assertively than a Vulcan bondmate would, and he felt his own passions, already kindled by their argument, by her flight, by his fears, escalate. Suddenly the argument seemed unimportant compared to the reality of her in his arms, now. He returned her kiss in kind, drew her under him, pushing aside the wrap, one hand behind her, when he encountered something that chilled his passions as effectively as a swim in the pool itself.

"Amanda?"

"Mmm?" She reached up and ran a finger, teasingly, down the bridge of his nose. Another reminder of their shared history. He would find amusement at her gesture, but he was distracted by another concern.

"Your hair is… wet."

She lost her smile, and stared up at him in exasperation. "Oh, you really are **impossible**, do you know that?"

"I don't like -"

"Wet hair, yes I remember you saying that." She slid out from under him and sat up. "Shocking, that I don't make your likes and dislikes the very **watchwords** of my life, considering how you **harp **at me about them. It is **not **an attractive trait."

"I do not harp," he said with dignity drawing back from her, and running his fingers lightly through the wet strands with a little shiver of displeasure. "I note."

"I note that too, my husband. Honestly, how you can kill a mood!"

He tugged lightly at the hair in his hand. "It need not stay …killed…for long. Go and dry it. Now." He used the emphatic mode. "We do not have all morning." And emphasized it with a hand on her arm, pushing her up.

Her lips twitched but she rose and went – flew, ran - to take a quick sonic shower. And this time, watching her run away from him didn't distress Sarek in the slightest.

_To be continued..._


	43. Chapter 43

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 43**

Later that evening, Amanda finished brushing out her hair, and laid the brush down. She sighed and went to the balcony, looking across the darkened gardens. Vulcan had no moon, and her eyes were not adapted to discern much by starlight. She could see virtually nothing of the gardens past the fountain lights.

She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, an improbable Juliet, waiting for a non-existent Romeo, since Sarek would surely decline a role with such illogical actions.

If **he** wanted a Juliet, he wouldn't skulk outside in a garden. Knowing Sarek as she did, he'd put his logical mind to making whatever deals were necessary with the Capulets, and then climb up the stairs and bring her down without delay. Of course, there wouldn't be much of a story in that. For which she was grateful. She'd once wondered whether her life on Vulcan would be boring, and now she'd gratefully wish for some of that. To be normal, ordinary, boring.

And then laughed at herself. She'd married a Vulcan ambassador, who was also a clan ruler; gone to live light-years away on an alien planet, was regularly immersed in Federation and planetary political intrigue as well as passionate family dynamics. And she wished for a normal life? Who was she kidding?

She laid her head on her knees. There was nothing else for it but to go to bed, and she didn't want to do that, not with Sarek still at work. After her…scare…before, she didn't want to sleep alone without him.

She pondered the inexplicable things that had been happening to her lately, trying to figure some reason for it. And none came to her.

And still pondering, she fell asleep.

And woke again to a noise.

She blinked, shivering a little in the cool night. What was she doing out here on the balcony?

"Sarek?"

No answer came. Frowning, she went through the doors and saw a tall, dark robed figure going through the bedroom doors. In the near pitch black, she couldn't see distinctly that it was Sarek, but who else could it be?

"Sarek?"

The door closed behind him. She put her hand to it, to follow. And it didn't open.

For a moment, she just stood there, stunned. Then she put her hand to it again. "Sarek?" No answer.

She turned, uncertainly, and saw there was only one frame on the bed table. She whirled to her dressing table and there were no clasps there.

"No!" She felt the pure unreasoning surge of panic rise within her.

_I'm asleep, I'm asleep. If I pinch myself, I'll be awake._

But she pinched herself until her skin bruised and she did not waken. There was only her, and the door that wouldn't open.

She told herself to calm down, that it was some mistake. But panic rose in her again and she pushed against the door fruitlessly, beat her fists against it, calling, near begging for release. She didn't know how long she pounded and called, but her hands became bruised and bleeding…

And then the door suddenly opened.

She ran through the outer suite, nothing but escape in her mind. She had to get out. Sarek would be back soon, she had to get through the gate before he returned, the locked gate, locked while she slid down beside it, passport in her hand.

_I cannot get out_, the starling said.

Oh no. Not this time.

She ran, stumbling, nearly falling in the heavy gravity down the stairs, flew through the hallways, kitchen, out the garden hall door to the gate, the main gate, the gate she had to get through before it was too late…

A frantic Alice, lost in a dark Wonderland…

And even as the gate opened to her hand - thank god, thank Mayday, she was free, Sarek appeared, prosaically coming from the hanger, home from work.

_To be continued…_


	44. Chapter 44

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 44**

Sarek stared at his wife in astonishment. She was barefoot, her hands bleeding, running past him as if she barely saw him, without a word of greeting or acknowledgement. A deep chill stole through him.

"Amanda, what are you…Amanda, you can't run into the desert at night." He grabbed her by the shoulders. "There are predators. Amanda!"

"Let me go!" She struggled against him, proving by that alone she was out of control. In her right mind, she knew she had no chance of breaking free, a human against Vulcan strength.

"Amanda!" He reached to immobilize her, take her hands in one of his, but as he let go of one hand, she raised hers and went for him. He drew back from her, his own momentary astonishment at her unlikely action netting him a graze of her nails on his face, which would have been deeper if he hadn't had Vulcan reflexes. He couldn't have been more astounded. She had never before struck him in earnest, or ever attempted to do so.

"Stop that."

She only struggled anew, fighting futilely against him as he grabbed her wrists. "Amanda, listen. If it is distressing you, I will take you outside the gate. But it isn't safe for you to go further." He picked her up and carried her through, slid her down against him. "You see, you are—"

She surprised him by turning, nearly getting a knee to his groin, which he blocked instinctively, though the shock reverberated through all his Vulcan conditioning. It convinced him even more that this was not his Amanda. But even as he stared at her in wonder, she got free of him, tried to get past him. He blocked her, stretching out an arm to prevent her running wildly out into the Forge. As if realizing she could not get around him, she cried out in despair like a wounded animal and turned around and fled.

He stared after her, so amazed that for a moment, he simply couldn't move. Then he followed her. She hadn't run to their suite. She was not there. Then Sarek saw her. She was running up, up the long staircases, down the galleries, her hair floating behind her, shimmering like a golden ghost in the starlight. He called to her but she only ran faster. Up. Up to the rooftop gardens. Up to the parapets.

He burst out onto the rooftop court to see her standing at his usual meditation spot. He paused, reason asserting itself. He found her recent behavior so incomprehensible that surely it was possible that he'd mistaken it. She had come here to meditate. He told himself that was so. Wanted to believe it, against all logic.

"Amanda?"

She didn't turn. Poised on the edge, looking down, not up. Down.

"Amanda, come to me. Amanda, please."

No response. As if she did not hear him. His heart froze in his chest. He had no idea what to do, to say. He tried to reach her, through the bond, even though as a non-telepath, not touching, his abilities to reach her in that way were limited. But there was nothing there. Not even as if she were asleep. As if she were unconscious. Not present. He drew a breath. "Amanda?"

She looked down, peering at the ground, "Do you see the scorpions, Sarek? Scorpions in the sand." Her voice was calm. Vulcan calm. Eerie.

There were no scorpions down there and she could not see them even if there were, so far below and with only starlight. "Amanda, come to me."

She took another step, away, not toward him, her bare feet on the edge of the parapet, toes gripping the edge.

Sarek had never felt closer to fainting in his life. And he thought he had only one choice left. He said the words he hadn't said since he'd released Amanda from chattel status, so laden with meaning had they become to him as a reminder of that time, said them in the emphatic mode, in a way that brooked no disobedience. "My wife, attend."

And she turned to him, blue eyes shining like lamps in the darkness. Stared at him, no expression in those eyes.

But she had taken that half step away from the edge.

Sarek held out his hand to her, two fingers extended, waiting. Hoping against hope.

And she took another step toward him. And another. So close. Close enough, almost to grab. He held himself against lunging for her. Not quite yet.

But some movement in his body language must have betrayed him, some flaw in his control. She flinched. Her eyes clouded and she said, "No. Oh, no. No…" And she turned. Turned back to the edge.

And he lunged for her, caught her. She turned again into a wild thing, scratching, fists pounding, kicking, fighting to get free of him, trying to hurt again.

He wrapped her wrists in his, trying to subdue her without hurting her, to remember his own strength. She tried to knee him again, but he was ready for her, sidestepping. She snarled, like a wild animal, and leaning down, sunk her teeth in the hand holding her wrists, deep enough to draw blood. He let go in sheer shock and she whirled again as if to run for the parapet. And with that, his temper short-circuited. Without thinking he caught her, plucked her out of the air, and when she struggled anew, he raised his own hand, and slapped her, choosing without conscious thought the Terran remedy for the equally unthinking hysteria before him. At the last moment, he regained enough control that he pulled back the force of it, or he might have broken her neck from the slap alone.

But it was still enough to stun her. She dropped to the court stones, folded up like a broken doll, and lay unmoving. Swearing at himself, he picked her up, carried her back down, through the house. He could feel her breathing. But that was all he knew. He placed her in their bed, and stared down at her.

She looked so unchanged. As if she were merely sleeping. He felt almost a human temptation to consign the whole thing to a dream of his own, a nightmare, so much did he fear and dread this reality.

Then he took out the medical scanner he had purchased against such a need. He already had it calibrated for humans, for her, had done so in the first week he had brought her home as chattel, after his rape and injury of her, when he still had his sanity, and had come to appreciate the depths to which a berserk Vulcan in a Blood Fever could sink. He had so hoped, even if hope was an illogical human emotion, that he would never have needed to use it. Scanning her, he drew a grateful breath when it indicated that at least she had no serious physical injuries.

And yet, she was unconscious.

For a moment longer he hesitated. Then he forced himself, sheer reluctance in every step, to make a call.

He had to steel himself as Abrams walked through the door into his bedroom. Tell himself anew that this man was a physician, a friend, never a rival. Discipline himself to cool neutrality as Abrams sat down on the very bed that he shared with his wife. But Abram's matter of fact air eased his irrational fears somewhat. The physician opened a black bag, and examined his wife anew. With only scanners.

Sarek breathed a slight sigh of relief at that.

But then, Abrams set aside the scanner, and studied Amanda. Turned to Sarek, evaluating him almost as clinically before asking. "Will it bother you if I touch her?"

"If you must, you must," Sarek said, grateful at least for the request, which allowed him a moment to prepare.

Mark touched her temples, and Sarek caught his own breath, but Mark merely pulled back her eyelids, shone a light in them, examined her pupils, and shaking his head again, drew back. "I always like to double check when my instruments don't jive with the symptoms. But they're telling us the truth. She has no concussion."

"She is unconscious."

"Not from a brain injury. Let's step outside."

With the door closed behind them, Mark turned to face Sarek. "There's no real proof that the human senses record everything that is said during an unconscious or fugue state, but there's no proof they don't, either. There's evidence either way. So I prefer to have this conference out of her presence. Even though she seems unaware. Sarek, I can't find any physical reason for her condition."

"I struck her."

"She was already in a panic attack. I think her …faint…was as much psychological as physical. The physical was the catalyst, for sure, but faced with that, and the fact she couldn't get physically away, she just retreated the only way she could."

"Are you suggesting I should have let her run off, into the desert, at night? Let her" he forced himself to say it, "… jump off the parapet?"

"Was she going to jump?"

"I …don't know. She was standing on the edge. Peering down."

"Is there a reason she might have been standing there?"

"It is a favored meditation spot of mine. Occasionally of hers. But she was **not** meditating." Sarek paused doubtfully at that. "Regardless, she was…too close…to the edge."

"What she was running away from?"

"I don't know."

"You weren't with her when she panicked this time?"

"No. When I arrived home, she was running toward the Forge."

Abrams sighed. "Well, neither of us can speculate in ignorance. Sarek, you know what this means. You'll have to get her in to see me. This last behavior was too dangerous. She is out of time."

"What about her physical injuries?"

"I'll treat the bruises now with sonics, though she's probably going to have some marks. Get her into see me as soon as you can, and I'll give her a follow-up treatment that should take care of those."

"Yes."

"You understand that they're the least of her problems?"

"Yes. You have not said how she is to be treated for this…faint."

"She'll probably wake up tomorrow. And based on her previous behavior, I wouldn't be surprised if she has a spotty memory of all of this. Probably no memory at all. As if it never happened. That's why convincing her to come in to see me may not be so easy. But it has to be done."

"I will bring her in myself if necessary."

"Try to convince, rather than coerce. Let's keep her stress to a minimum." Mark went back through the door, treated the bruises with sonics, and packed up his bag. "Until then, Sarek, she should have someone watching over her. She shouldn't be alone."

"I understand."

"When you can't be with her, have someone nearby. Until we get this sorted out."

"Yes." And Sarek sat down to his silent vigil.

She didn't stir for almost two hours and he was almost napping himself, head drooping, when he heard her moan.

"Amanda?"

She put a hand to her neck and he realized more than the mark of his hand on her cheek, and based on the marks she was already showing she was going to have a spectacular bruise without more sonics, what really had hurt her was the force of his hand snapping her head back. It reminded him anew that humans had no business living in close proximity to Vulcans, when the slightest slip on the Vulcan's part could have such drastic results.

"What …happened?" she asked. She sounded almost normal.

"Don't you remember?"

She shook her head, blinking at him, one hand now to her cheek. "Except I have a stiff neck. And the inside of my cheek is cut," she added, sounding surprised.

"You must have cut it on your teeth when I-" he stopped. "You had a bad dream, Amanda. You were …sleepwalking, after a fashion."

"Sleepwalking?"

"You tried to run out into the desert at night," Sarek said bluntly.

"I couldn't have. I wouldn't have," she said, sounding astonished, and again, perfectly normal. "You know that I'd never go out to the Forge alone, much less at night."

"I stopped you. Rather forcibly. That is why your head aches. I - slapped you." He drew a breath as her eyes widened in shock. "I apologize for my excessive force. I should have merely restrained you, but that made you so hysterical that I - At the time it seemed to be either **that** flawed remedy or letting you become a meal for a lematya."

"But I don't remember **any** of that."

"Amanda, that is not all of it. When I would not let you run into the desert, you ran to the roof. I was…I was afraid you were going to …" he could not say it.

"No," Amanda denied.

Sarek hesitated. "My wife, I am …justifiably concerned about these events. You could well have fallen off the parapet. Or come to some ill in the desert."

She flushed. "How can I not remember?"

"Amanda, that in itself concerns me. This is not the first time you've …panicked…since-"

"Oh, please don't say it-"

"I am at a loss to help you. This is beyond me. I believe it is time for you to seek some professional help."

"You think I'm -?" She had curled up, both hands to her temples.

"I think you are distressed. Amanda, please. Please. Don't do this to yourself, to me, to us. I would give you anything I could, but what you need now I can't provide. Talk to your physician. Perhaps he has some …solution."

"You want to lock me up again, only this time…this time because you think I'm -." She drew breath, refused to say the word. "I'm not! It didn't happen, none of it!"

"Amanda," Sarek shook his head.

She looked at him, shaking her own, eyes wide and tragic, "How can I not remember?"

"I want to free you, to free you for real." He reached out, caressed the cheek that bore the marks of his hand. "Apparently there are still some shackles of which neither of us is aware."

"Oh, Sarek."

She went into his arms, hers around him. As he enfolded her equally fiercely, he thought, _This is real. In her right mind she loves you, she does not reject you._

_But she is not fully in her right mind._

_To be continued…_


	45. Chapter 45

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 45**

Amanda went to her physician as Sarek had requested. She would grant him that much. But to say she was a cooperative patient would be to exaggerate in the extreme. She came in as if prepared to hold court, sat down and fixed him with a gaze worthy of a British monarch. Or a Vulcan matriarch.

Mark, however, knew her too well to be phased by this. "You want to tell me why you're here?"

"You know that."

"I know why Sarek wants you here. What do **you** want?"

"How much did he tell you about it?" she asked, blond brows drawn down in suspicion.

"I'd rather **you** talked to **me**."

"Apparently he told you enough. I don't believe it," she declared. "I don't remember any of it."

"Do you think he's lying?" He watched as she ducked her head. "You've still got the remnants of an impressive bruise on your cheek," he suggested.

She gave him a cool, calculated look. "So he knocks me around. That doesn't mean **I'm** crazy."

Mark half smiled at that. "Amanda, neither of us believes that."

"Do you think I hit myself?"

"I think he slapped you when you were hysterical. And forgot his own strength, as usual, when you've driven his Vulcan mind into a state where even he loses control." He paused. "Is he lying? Amanda, do you even remember him slapping you?"

"No." Her eyes met his. "You're saying this is **my** fault."

"Are you looking for blame?"

She looked away at that.

Mark abandoned that line of inquiry as being too soon. "We both know why you're here. And if I really thought Sarek was lying I wouldn't let you go back there."

She gave him an incredulous look. "You wouldn't? Just how would you stop me?"

"Something short of a right cross," he said, with some frustration for her resistance.

"And him? How would you stop him?" She looked him up and down, a speculative smile curving her lips. "I'd like to see that. I'd sell tickets for it."

"Don't be insulting. The question is, do you want him stopped?"

"Oh, you," considering that Abrams had always thought of Amanda as a friend, the enmity with which she suddenly regarded him was shocking. "I know how you'd **like** me to answer that. You're no better than any of the others."

"Others?"

"Don't look so innocent," she accused him. "You want me to say _Yes_. Don't you?"

"You're the one that - I'm only asking because you-"

But she didn't let him finish. "All of you - thinking the same thing. Even to come here," she said scathingly, and Mark was shocked anew at she gestured at his office. "This building, the embassy. If it weren't for Sarek's sake I would **never** have done it. After years of whispers. How **could** she have married a Vulcan? What's wrong with her? Because it is easier to think that than admit that your own egos are asking what's wrong with me. Humans are furious when a human woman chooses outside her species. Don't think I don't know that. Haven't been exposed to it from the first days of my marriage."

Mark drew a sharp breath, caught at that. For he couldn't deny that at some level it was true. He had thought it. He didn't consider he was furious, but he couldn't deny he'd wondered why a beautiful girl like Amanda Grayson, possessed of a warm heart, a real capacity for love and joy, and not just a blinding intelligence but a good amount of common sense, had let herself in for marriage with a controlled, controlling, often forbidding Vulcan, whose professed philosophies required a life of non-emotion and logic. Their relationship was almost a contradiction in terms. Or a confirmation to the old adage that opposites attract.

But her marriage to Sarek had denied her a normal life among her own species, human love, family – at least the kind of family she deserved. And yes, even children. Spock was a fine boy, but he was as reserved as his father. Mark had tried but had never succeeded in getting Amanda's son to regard him with anything but cool disapproval. Not unlike his father, if for different reasons. And she'd nearly died, having Spock. Cross species genetics had advanced quite a bit, but not so much that having such children wasn't risky.

And he knew she'd wanted more children, many children. If she'd married a human, she could have had them. But now Spock was all she'd have, and even he was gone off planet. Neither one of her Vulcans, he thought were good enough for Amanda. Or at least neither one could provide what was good for her. She'd had to know she had wanted and needed those things, and she'd had the sense to know Sarek couldn't provide them. No matter how Sarek loved her. If he loved her. And yet she had married him. Yet Mark couldn't say she'd ever shown any lasting regret. At least, not so he'd noticed.

But she was right, it was more than that. It was something of a …slap in the face, to his ego as a human male, the idea of a human female marrying a Vulcan.

When you pitted humans against Vulcans, the latter had nearly every advantage. They were stronger, lived longer, had advantages in intelligence, memory, telepathy. The list rolled on. To a human male it was a bit galling. The only thing Vulcans lacked was emotion, or at least the willingness to allow them. It was one area where humans could feel superior to Vulcans. Or at least where they could feel they had an advantage in the natural selection business. Sure Vulcan males had a lot going for then. But what human woman would settle for their manifest and obvious drawbacks in the marriage arena.

And then came Amanda and Sarek. They didn't have to kiss in public; they didn't even have to hold hands – though they occasionally were caught doing that. You could just look at them together and see how in love they were. And try and step between them, even when they were across the room from each other. The tie, the pull between them was obvious, electric, almost tangible. They blasted every myth, every theory that Vulcan males couldn't be rivals for human affections.

He knew he wasn't the first human male to find it a little threatening.

"Don't deny it," Amanda said.

Mark shook his head. "I wouldn't. I won't, Amanda. You're right, I have thought that. I'm not proud of it, but I have."

Her face crumpled. "That's what I mean. Just once, I'd like to be let alone, without everyone's curiosity, condemnation, and provincial jealousy. From human **and** Vulcan."

"Amanda—"

"And humans are the **worst**. At least I could expect some loyalty from my own species. I'm tired of being scrutinized by everyone, always someone wondering, 'What's wrong with her'? 'She must be crazy'. And now you finally get your chance. You haul me in here to dissect me. Well, it won't do you any good because there's nothing wrong with me," she was crying in earnest now. "I married him because I love him!"

"Amanda-"

She had curled in on herself, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her, crying as if her heart was breaking. "I love him. I love him."

"I know you do. Amanda, it's all right."

"How can it be all right?" She had half calmed after her storm of tears, after her violent affirmation, and now was sniffling, wiping her face of tears even though she was still crying, if less violently. "Every time I think we get to a …to a safe place," she put her hands at her sides as if bracing herself and looked at him defiantly, "it all erodes like sand under my feet. Twenty years of marriage, a dozen _Pon Far_s, and I think I have it **down**, I can relax, just like he's always **nagging** me to do and then Spock leaves for Starfleet. And that lets loose another monster out of the closet, one I never heard of, one locked up for 5000 years, that **no** **one** ever expected even still existed today. And it was worse than all the others. And what's next?" She looked at Mark, eyes still swimming, not for answers, but in despair. "What's next that I don't know of?"

"Have you asked him?"

"Do you think he would tell me?" She turned her face away. "Do you think even he knows himself? He didn't know about the last one. It dragged him into that nightmarish morass even more than it did me."

"He still loves you."

She sighed, quiet now, having cried herself out. "I know." She looked at him. "Sometimes that makes it worse."

"Worse?"

"I did **that** to him."

Mark bit his lips to keep from smiling. "Amanda, Sarek is…**more** than capable of taking care of himself. Didn't he pick you first?"

She looked at him. "Yes." She lowered her head, resigned. "He picked me first." There was an odd tone to her voice.

"So he chose you."

"I said yes."

Mark frowned a little at this. "Not that you're the helpless type either, but if it comes down to a question of who did what to whom, I'd say he has the advantage. This is his culture, his world, and you're here. I don't see **him** trying to make it on Earth."

"He doesn't like Terra," Amanda brushed that option away.

"My point, exactly."

"My career is portable. You can't be head of the Vulcan High Council anywhere but Vulcan."

"Still, he's pretty much calling the shots, don't you think?"

She didn't say anything for a moment, looking down at her hands. Then she said, "I think about when I first had to decide to marry him or not. I thought long and hard about it. I had to. All my friends, colleagues, warned me the idea was crazy. I tried to imagine all the terrible things that could happen." She looked up at Mark. "I never even came close."

He regarded her doubtfully. This didn't sound like Amanda. "Do you regret having married him?"

She shook her head, her eyes not wavering from his. "I'd do it again. Even knowing everything I know now. When I really do believe humans and Vulcans shouldn't marry. I'd marry him again. There are times when even **I **think I must be crazy. Oh," she wiped her face. "What is wrong with me? I've cried more in the last year than in the ten before combined."

"Maybe it's time you did."

"What's the point?" she asked.

"Maybe you need to."

She shook her head. "It just leaves me feeling washed out and unhappy, and it upsets Sarek.. I can't see that it does any good. Seems to do more harm than good."

"If you love him, and you'd marry him again, why are you crying?"

She looked at him, evaluatingly.

"Amanda, what you say here, stays here."

"Maybe I don't have to worry about **you** blabbing to the gossip rags. Provided you can trust your staff, your maintenance people. That you don't leave any reports lying around. And your security is good enough that no one breaks into your files. It wouldn't be the first time that happened in Federation politics."

Mark drew a breath. "Yes, but I'm careful. Is that what you're really worried about in talking to me?"

"Not completely." Her faced twisted in a brief smile. "You mean Sarek didn't give you one of his warnings re: 'My wife belongs to me, so forget any doctor/patient privilege issues'?"

"Actually, he did, but that doesn't mean I'll tell him everything."

She only looked amused and utterly unconvinced. "One thing I have learned about my husband. He almost always gets **exactly** what he wants. Particularly on his home world."

"You're bonded anyway. Doesn't that mean he knows every thought in your head?"

"Very funny. That really would be the stuff of nightmares. For both of us, I think."

"Well, I need to know some of the thoughts in yours. Amanda, I can't help you if you're not honest." He waited, then asked, "What are you afraid that he'll find out?"

"Nothing, really. But all this is so…easy to misinterpret. To take out of context. I don't want to hurt anyone more than I already have. I often think I've done **him** more harm than good."

Mark thought about the violent rape he'd patched up when Sarek had become ill six months ago. The bruises and occasional, if rare, cracked or bruised ribs Amanda sometimes suffered after the worst of _Pon Fars_. The broken wrist Sarek had given her, pulling her out of the path of an oncoming aircar once. Not to mention six months of chattel status. All, except for the last six months, explainable. All excusable when you put a fragile five foot, ninety pound human female in close intimate contact with a Vulcan male as powerful as Sarek for more than twenty years. Even a momentary slip of Sarek's control could be lethal. But he wondered why she was talking about **her** hurting **him**. And how out of context all that could be taken.

"If I could change the past, make it so that he'd never seen me, never met me, I think that might have been better for him."

"What about what's better for you?"

She sighed, head tilted, thinking. And shook her head. "I am not wishing that for me. Maybe I would have been happier. Maybe not."

"Are you saying you're not happy now?"

"Oh, for – my husband just suffered a life threatening illness, and don't think I don't know that he's terrified of succumbing to it again. My son left home – and while I don't regard his attending a school off planet as the end of the world, and I am happy for him, I also am **sorry** to have him gone, and I do miss him – and worry about him. **I'm** supposedly having panic attacks. My husband thinks I'm crazy, and apparently so do you. Don't tell me you two didn't put your heads together to get me in here. An unlikely alliance if ever there was one. If I were happy now, I'd **deserve** to be thought crazy."

Mark gave a wry grin, conceding the point. "What about before?"

"Before?

"Before the catalyst that set all this off. Were you happy then?"

She sighed. "Yes."

"Really happy?"

"Do you need to have seen me dancing in the streets as proof? My husband loves me. I love him. I have a wonderful son, a career, a beautiful home. A full and fulfilling life. Why wouldn't I be happy?"

"And the downside? The things you don't have, that Sarek can't give you? That you'll never have in the life you've chosen?"

She frowned at that. "Every life has its good and bad points. It's not Sarek's job to make me happy. His own convictions aside. Don't think I haven't had to stop his over-reaches in that regard."

"Whose job is it?"

"Mine. He never promised me a rose garden. I have to make that myself."

"You happen to have a fabulous rose garden."

She looked at him, arch and amused. "A case in point for Sarek's over-reaches. And I didn't know you'd taken the tour, Mark."

"I've seen it at parties. Don't change the subject."

"You're worse than Sarek. Does no male recognize a metaphor?"

"Then if your life **isn't** a rose garden, you tell me what metaphor describes it. Let's talk about what's putting you in a panic."

She looked at him, unsmiling, eyes wide. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"You – He – may say I've had panic attacks. But I don't remember them. Not clearly. And I've tried. I just don't."

"The first was during sex, or just before it," he ignored the color that suffused her face. "I guess, given your recent history, and Sarek's illness, I can understand that. But the second, he wasn't there. Do you have any thoughts as to why you panicked?"

She was shaking her head. "I can't talk about this."

"Amanda. You have to talk about it."

"I can't."

"What if Sarek isn't there next time? What if you do run out into the desert at night, and get killed by a predator?"

"**That's** not how I'm going to get killed." She said darkly.

The sound of that filled him with foreboding. "Amanda. Why did you panic?" He waited, seeing her hesitate. "Was it Sarek? Did he frighten you?"

"I don't need Sarek to frighten me. From what I understand, he wasn't even home. He caught me as I was leaving."

Abrams considered that. "How are you frightening yourself, then?"

"I don't know **what** is frightening me. Just that **something** is."

"Come on Amanda, that's no good. And you agreed to talk."

"Because you've forced me here."

"Then get yourself out of here. Talk to me."

"You'll lock me up."

"Why? What could be so terrible?" He tried to connect the two panic attacks in his mind. The one related to sex he understood – after years of _Pon Far_s, and a Vulcan's morbid attitude toward that state, sex could be said to be linked to the threat of violence, even death, in her mind, made all the more real by her recent experiences.

"I would never do it," she said, almost to herself. She looked up at him, defiantly, "I didn't do it."

He suddenly with shock realized how the two were related. "What made you run out the gate? What made you go up to the rooftop gardens?"

She was shaking her head, eyes now unfocused, almost…dreamy. "Nothing."

"Then what didn't happen? What were you doing on the parapets?"

"Only to …look."

"It must have been frightening, what you saw."

She shook her head again. "Not at all. Not really. I knew I'd never do it. But the option was there, if I couldn't get out. Always there." She sighed softly. "Always there."

"What was there?"

She looked at him as if surprised he was so dense. He sensed she didn't really see him. "When I was …locked up. I couldn't get out, you know." She looked at her hands, bruised from her assault on the door, as if wondering. "I couldn't get out. But really, I **could**. I'd go up to the gardens. Sarek's favorite meditation spot is there. It's on the highest parapet. The stone is old, crumbling. And the drop is…hundreds of feet. A few steps, either way – well, problem solved."

He looked at her, washed in shock. More than anything, the blankness in her blue eyes as she spoke, half back in that state, half dreamy, convinced him. He felt sudden sympathy with Sarek, and a near wish to slap her silly himself, if it brought her out of that state. "Suicide?"

Some rationality returned to her eyes. "Freedom, of a sort."

"Amanda that is **not** freedom."

She sighed and that odd dreaminess faded from her manner. And she was back. "I **know** that. I would never **do** it. I'm here, after all, you know. But when things were…difficult, it sometimes helped to think of it." She looked at him frankly. "Knowing that I had an out if things got really bad."

"That's not an out."

"A drastic one."

"If you felt that way, then tell me why you panicked?"

She looked at him as if he had the answers. Her lower lip caught between her teeth, and she began to tremble.

"Amanda?"

"I don't really understand it."

"What?"

"There were times when the thought of it was almost a …comfort. And then I'd …wake up…and realize what I was thinking, what I'd been driven to think and I'd …panic. But that was **before**."

"Before?"

"Before I leaned acceptance. And then being confined was not so bad. Then I didn't think about that anymore." She shook her head, puzzled, "Until now. And I have no reason to think of it now."

Mark doubted that but dared to ask, "All right, why do you think it's happening? You're not confined anymore."

She looked down at her hands again, lashes against her cheek. Mark thought anew how pretty she was. A combination of stubborn will, fierce intelligence, and yet, still such a pretty, even gentle girl. No wonder Sarek had wanted her. And part of him thought, no wonder it had taken a Vulcan to dominate that indomitable will. All that she had been through, lived through, and still she was fighting so hard. For Sarek, for herself, for her marriage. "Amanda, what's different now?"

She shook her head. Frowning. Puzzled. "I don't know. Things have been happening. The oddest, most inexplicable things. They terrify me. And I can't explain them. They terrify me because I **can't** explain them."

"What sort of things?"

She sighed, frustrated. "I don't know. Maybe it's because I have …choices again."

He almost didn't hear the word, so softly had she spoken it. And he repeated it, doubtfully. "Choices?"

She looked at him. "A chattel doesn't have choices. But now **I** do."

He felt again that cold wash of ice at the odd remote tone in her voice, the blankness of expression that washed across her face, wavered, returned, left. The idea of her as a chattel – something he'd thought relegated to the pages of pre-Reform Vulcan history. "So you're saying that before, when you were …locked up, you didn't have the choice of …that kind of freedom. And now you do."

"Oh, yes." Amanda laughed softly. "He gave it all back to me. I could walk on a starship, and leave him. Or worse."

"So why don't you take that starship?"

"Kill him? Kill Sarek? I don't think he could survive a Pon Far without me, if I just left him, the bond unbroken. I could never live with myself afterwards. And you know there's no divorce on Vulcan that doesn't involve Challenge. Besides, I love him."

"So because you think you can't leave, that's why you're thinking of other choices?"

She sighed. "I'm **not** thinking of it. It just…comes back to me, like a flood when these – these **things** happen. And then I panic. I'm fine until they do."

"What things?"

She just looked at him. "Now that we've talked about it, I do remember a little. I remember the rooftop. Like a dream." She looked puzzled. "Or maybe I remember before, when I was chattel. It's hard for me to differentiate what's real, what's not. What was a dream, or reality. So much of that time, at least during the last part of it, I spent – not feeling anything. Not really present. And sometimes, not often, but sometimes, in flashes, it comes back to me."

"You disassociated, as a coping skill. And now that the immediate threat is over, your mind is forcing you to come to grips with the seriousness of what you went through." He leaned forward. "And it wants some acknowledgement. It's trying to get your attention. Amanda, this is important. You need to tell the truth. Do you want to leave Sarek?"

She looked at him, and then shook her head. "Oh, no. Never." She looked down at her hands again while two tears rolled down her cheeks. "Sarek has had done with _never_, and I can't. I can't not love him."

"Are you afraid to stay with him?" He waited while she hesitated. "Tell me the truth, Amanda."

A long silence, then, she nodded, once. "I guess I must be, if I'm panicking like this." She looked at him, a plea. "But I **don't** feel that with him. And these panic attacks, if that's what they are, don't happen often. I don't know why they're happening," she looked at him. "Sarek's been fine since he released me. I know people have trouble believing it, because he can look so forbidding, but really, most of the time, he's gentle, kind, controlled."

"And the other times?"

"He is Vulcan. There are reasons for their practice of non-emotion, their constant control, their logic. He has a temper. But so do I. I lose mine a lot more often. Still, that part of him, when he does lose his temper, and his control fails him can…scare…me. How could it not?"

"Well, that's good that you can admit it. Now we just have to figure out how you can feel safe, and the panic attacks will leave."

She laughed.

"You find that amusing?"

"Only that you say that so easily. If you can figure that out, my husband would – well, I don't know what the ultimate Vulcan tribute would be but you'd get it. And the gratitude of every Vulcan on the planet, or off of it. Mark, that's the **paradox** of my whole marriage. That small percentage of the time when neither Sarek nor I feel safe. That's the **dilemma** that made Vulcans choose non-emotion five thousand years ago. The fact that their passions are so strong, so uncontrollable, that they believe they have no choice but to eschew them entirely for logic. Because when they lose that control, they are lethal."

"Then why does Sarek indulge his emotions with you?"

"No feeling being can exist in an emotional vacuum. Marriage – mating – is emotional in itself. Am I supposed to reject his love for me on the off chance that he might lose control at the wrong moment?"

"That explains why you accept his emotions. Why does he?"

"Believe it or not there's some kind of logical argument that balances the violence of suppressed mating passions against the risk of allowing them in the relationship, all wrapped up in fancy math. Sarek showed it to me once, years ago."

"Did you understand it?"

Amanda hesitated. "After a fashion. Not entirely. Higher math isn't my field. And aside from that I'm a little too close to the situation. Emotion is one thing, but humans tend to think of only the positive ones."

"And Vulcans certainly acknowledge the flip side. It's hard to reconcile how a logical, controlled society would allow mortal combat as a means of divorce. Would accept women as property."

She sat back, regarding him curiously. "Did you ever read Lost Horizon, Mark?"

"I've heard of it. I'm not much of one for ancient literature."

"A quasi-Utopian novel. And one of the arguments the protagonist asks, in this utterly peaceful society, is if there are disputes about women? And Chang, the llama replies, only rarely, because it wouldn't be considered good matters to take a woman another wanted. And the protagonist asks, what if someone wanted this woman so badly he didn't give a damn about manners? And the answer was that then it would be considered good manners for the other to give her up, and for the woman to be equally agreeable." She sighed. "Equally agreeable. There's some of that, in a woman's role on Vulcan. It doesn't seem right to us, to **humans**, in that respect. But it makes **perfect** sense to Vulcans. And it is peaceful…most of the time. The percentage of Challenges in Vulcan society is relatively low."

"There's a high price paid for that peace."

"There's always a price to be paid."

"It seems to me some pay more than others."

"That's a fact of nature too. Thomas Jefferson was wrong. We're not all created equal. Not humans and not Vulcans. Nor between men and women is there real equality."

"You've been on Vulcan too long."

Amanda looked impatient. "I'm neither a child nor a fool. We are all diverse. We have different requirements, abilities, needs. The difference is, that with humans we legislate equality **above** biology. Vulcans don't even pretend to **try**. They countenance some feudal holdovers as well."

"I've never seen the logic in that."

Amanda shrugged. "Some things they don't speak about, or care to openly acknowledge. Sarek's line is known for the strength of their passions, though it differs from individual to individual. The general belief is that for them, in their line, the equation proves that complete suppression leads to unbridled passion. So they accept passion in the mating bond for that reason. All suitably controlled and disciplined, of course."

"Except when a rival wants another man's wife, or a wife wants out."

"That's rare. And I didn't even think any of that applied to Sarek and myself. Before I married him I thought, like most humans I guess, that Vulcans were just overly fastidious and over-reacted to the least loss of control as being overly emotional. And I was wrong. There are reasons for their customs, and for Vulcan controls. It is no joke."

Mark flushed, having momentarily forgotten _Pon Far_, and the violence of Vulcan passions. "Sarek mentioned you have some sort of …conditioning…some discipline, to aid in controlling that passion."

"Yes. It's some post Reform thing. One of Surak's great gifts to Vulcan marriages. If I had him before me now, I'd-" she shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Yes, there are rituals – lessons in control and conditioning. Vulcans go through rigorous training to suppress their emotions. **I** don't think it helps one bit, but Sarek is certainly a dead set, died in the wool believer." She shrugged one shoulder. "It's tradition. And he's a believer in that too. I suppose as head of the Vulcan High Council, and a direct heir to Surak, how could he be otherwise?"

He thought about Sarek speaking obliquely of this, of Amanda's constraints against refusing him, and understood suddenly how Sarek was caught in such a quandary. "Do these rituals make you feel safer?"

"Don't ask me how they make me feel," she said darkly. "There isn't enough therapy in all the world to cover it."

"Does Sarek know how you feel about them?"

"He doesn't care."

"Do you believe that?"

"Do you think I don't know? I have twenty years of evidence to prove it." She shook her head. "It isn't that he has no regard for my feelings. But in his assessment, lessons are necessary for **his** control and my safety. He's terrified that in Pon Far, he might hurt me. And I can't counter his logic. He isn't **being** logical about it. And it's hard to argue with him. Vulcans don't even want to discuss Pon Far. They wrap the whole thing in mystery, in ritual. In traditions. They don't remember much of how they are in the Fever."

"What if you just said no?" he asked, curious to hear her side of it.

"I'm not allowed that."

"What if you insisted." He persisted.

"I'd get a lecture, and a lesson anyway. In fact, I'd get more lessons, because I'd proved I needed them."

"What if you flat out refused, and really resisted him if he refused to take no for an answer?"

She suddenly shivered, and drew back a bit. "Don't wish such a confrontation on me. On either of us. I don't want my neck broken."

"Do you think he really would?"

Amanda forced herself to consider the question rationally. She thought of Sarek in _vrie_, his hands on her throat, the less than subtle threat that had so terrified her. She thought of him as he usually was, his normal logical, loving, considerate behavior that was him 99 percent of the time. The idea that he'd ever hurt her was ludicrous.

And she thought of him when she…challenged him, threatened him, defied him, disobeyed him in some area where Vulcan passion came into play. Most of the time he managed to keep a tight rein on his instinctive responses. But not always. From the first days of their marriage, his occasional slips of control, his precipitous reactions had at first startled her. And then, then they had begun to intimidate her. She'd never forget the first time she'd given him a playful nip during a kiss and found herself pinned flat, his body covering hers in almost the next breath. He was so strong. Unbelievably strong.

No human really understood how strong Vulcans were until one on one, they experienced being on the opposing side of a Vulcan who'd lost control. And then it was almost unimaginable how powerful Vulcan strength could be. Even for her, who lived with one intimately, she was still shocked every time she experienced it. It was a testament to how stringently Sarek did control, that his unbridled strength could still amaze her. It abruptly and unreservedly reminded her that human strength was as nothing to a Vulcan's. And for a human female – well, let's say she had come to understand Sarek's fears. Even when he caught hold of himself an instant later, he knew and she knew, he could do a lot of damage in an instant. One reflex gone awry, and she could be dead. No wonder Sarek was scared to death of hurting her.

Outside of _vrie_, she could count on one hand the few times he'd actually **had** hurt her in such slips. Never seriously. And each time, her controlled husband literally went white with fear. The worst had been her broken wrist of last summer, when he'd pulled her back from the path of an aircar he'd thought she had not seen. A brief second of surprise on his part, a moment's untempered gesture, and he'd snapped her wrist in half. He'd been so upset about that. Yes, in _Pon Far_ he sometimes got a little clumsy, a little rough, before the biofeedback of the bond made him temper his strength. But this had not been _Pon Far_, this had been when he was supposedly in full control – though he had just passed the midpoint of his cycle, started the downslide into _Pon Far_. He had taken her to the Terran medical center, literally picked her up and bundled her there, his face so grim he'd frightened every human in the place. And frightened Reni, who'd been with her. And less facile at determining Vulcan expressions, Reni had taken his grimness for anger, when Amanda had recognized it for the terror and self censure that it had been.

It had only taken the medical staff a few minutes, half an hour, to set and laser fuse her wrist, but Sarek had sunk into a dark study during it. When she'd been released from the med center, he'd escorted her home and then disappeared for days. That had worried her far worse than his accidental slip, thinking of him out there on the Forge, bait for the lematyas, meditating or half distracted by some Vulcan discipline.

When he finally had come home, she'd been so furious at his worrying her like that, she had given him what for. And they'd had a terrible argument. Not for breaking her wrist – it had been all healed by then, she'd thought nothing of the incident itself, then, except as just a silly slip. But for his overblown reaction to it. And he'd been testy in turn, seeming not to **want** to understand that she was angry at his response to his careless act, not about the act itself.

They'd lost both their tempers. And after…he hadn't touched her for days. A long time for him. And then, when he did, it had only been for lesson after lesson after lesson, night after unremitting night, as if he'd never trust himself to relax his control again. An unrelenting, unrelieved string of lessons. For weeks. Until she'd lost her own control, no longer angry, but despairing and frightened, and all but begged him to stop punishing both of them for what had been an accident. That it had been the failing of a moment, but this was far worse to her, to both of them. And then they had made love, and everything had been …all right again. So she had thought. Hoped.

Sarek had gotten over it – at least she'd told herself that he had. At least he tried to give the appearance that he had. Of course he'd been on the downside toward _Pon Far_ then, so she'd taken his sometimes darker moods, his sometimes grim control for fear over that inevitable slide. And now, looking back with twenty-twenty hindsight, she realized his behavior had been more than _Pon Far_. She now wondered if that incident had precipitated the shadow on the subsequent _Pon Far_, been the catalyst for the descent into _vrie_, the chronic blood fever. Not her lack of Vulcan control. Not even Spock's leaving for Starfleet. Perhaps it had all been caused by an aircar driven by someone she'd never even known, and a silly broken wrist. That had been as good as new a couple of days later.

Perhaps she'd never know. What she did know was that it took a lot of work, a lot of effort, for humans and Vulcans to marry.

And after all Spock had been through, god help their children.

She loved her husband dearly, and Sarek loved her, and she knew he cared for their son. And in spite of all that, how difficult they sometimes found their lives. All those fears she'd had years ago, about living in a logical society. And it turned out it wasn't logic at all that was betraying her, betraying them.

It was passion.

She understood, as few humans did, why Vulcans so desperately clung to logic, and non-emotion. Because their passions could undo them.

"Amanda?" Mark, looked at her, waiting for her answer.

_To be continued…_


	46. Chapter 46

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 46**

Amanda looked across at Mark. In some respects, her marriage had been more of a Romeo and Juliet story than she'd ever suspected. Too often, she and Sarek had been nearly undone, not by logic, but by passion. It hadn't been what she'd expected in marrying a supposedly unemotional Vulcan.

But scratch the surface calm of a Vulcan deep enough – and you couldn't help but do that, in marriage, certainly her own temper contributed to that – and you'd find a Vulcan warrior underneath. One about as easy to control as antimatter.

Not even Vulcans, who practiced strict control from an early age, could live entirely emotionless. And like energy forced through a concentrator, those channeled emotions could be even more devastating when they were focused only on one relationship, had only one legitimate outlet.

And if the controlling channeler broke…

She had come to understand the depths of passion Sarek felt. She loved that he loved her, cared for her. But passions didn't run one way, not in humans even. Certainly not in Vulcans. She couldn't have it both ways.

Sarek was Vulcan. She'd taken on both sides of that passion when she married him. The very strength of his devotion could overwhelm his control. And even if only in vrie, in Pon Far, there was also a dark, possessive, almost violent side to Vulcans. A legacy of their warrior past. Barely let loose, even in Pon Far. She'd seen some of it in vrie. Flickers of it even before, in unguarded moments, when Sarek lost control of his emotions and his temper.

Even if she had never been specifically told about it, even if it was something – and god what an important thing – the healers had overlooked in their cultural blindness, she still had taken it on with him. He loved her. He desired her. He'd give her anything he could, would do anything he could for her. She had overwhelming evidence of that. She believed in him unconditionally. She loved him and trusted him, with all her heart. But he was Vulcan.

In some respects both more and less passionate, more and less loving than a human male.

And she believed something else now too. Something she would have denied before, with all her breath. Something that haunted Sarek, which had driven all Vulcans to the extremes of logic and emotional suppression. That if he was given the right stimulus at the wrong time, if he lost control and his temper, when he and she were in a passionate argument, as a Vulcan he could certainly break her neck.

Even though she'd been warned about it before her marriage, told about it, however obliquely from the first days of her marriage, she had always refused to accept it. Maybe it was past time she admitted it. Even if she couldn't quite yet allow herself to really feel what that meant.

And she only believed that he **could**, as any Vulcan could. She'd never believe that he would. But she did believe, intellectually, that he could.

Perhaps part of Sarek's frustration, his constant reiteration of lessons had been her own stubborn cultural blindness, her own childish, pig-headed refusal to accept a part of himself that he was desperately trying to keep leashed. Particularly with her, so much more fragile than a Vulcan wife would have been. And that for so long she had adamantly refused even to acknowledge him. He must have thought that if she wouldn't understand then he had to keep trying some way to get through to her.

Well, no longer. She'd grant that truth, allow the Vulcan past into the light of day.

"Yes." She said it with surprising calm.

Impasse. Mark studied her. "How does it feel, to think the husband you love might hurt you that way?"

Amanda made a face. "What a stupid question."

"No, it's not."

"It is to me."

"So indulge me. How does it feel?"

"Do you really want me to **feel** that?" she asked in astonishment. "There aren't enough tears. For either of us. It's enough for me just to admit it."

"How can you not feel it?"

"Vulcans are the only ones who practice control," Amanda said.

Mark shook his head at that. "Amanda, I'm not sure about that. You can't deny your emotions. Not on something like this. Maybe that's another reason why you're running into the desert at night."

"Why would you want me to feel that? I acknowledge that it's true. Intellectually. I'm even grateful to finally be able to accept it, after years of driving Sarek crazy by refusing to take Vulcan passions seriously. Isn't that enough? Why do you want me to **feel** it? Do you want to hurt me?"

"I'm not the one hurting you, Amanda. And right now, neither is Sarek. It's **yourself **who is hurting you. You do understand that, don't you?"

She realized it abruptly. Her face reflected that, and the devastation that she felt because of it. "What do you want me to do?" She looked at him. "I can't help what I'm doing. I can't help what I'm feeling. I don't even remember all of it. "

"I think that may be the problem. You're not feeling it at all."

"If I'm not, it must be because I can't. I can't risk it."

"Because you fear his reaction?"

"Maybe I fear **mine**. Maybe I fear his if I feel my own. Don't judge him for this. I don't. He can't help being Vulcan. And don't judge me. I can't help being human. Neither of us chose to be caught in this quandary."

"He could have helped choosing you."

She looked away at that. "I made that choice too. And I **don't** regret it."

"Yet now you are panicked over it."

She winced and then forced herself to smile, a wry smile. "Touché." She drew a deep breath. "I'll get over it. I always do. Humans," her breath caught and then she visibly calmed herself. "are infinitely adaptable. I just have to figure out how, and I'll be all right. And then so will he. I'll make sure of that."

He watched her, not liking what he saw. The practiced, almost Vulcan control that smoothed out her features. "That sounds like a mantra."

"It is. For me. It's what I always do. It always works."

He shook his head, not liking the sound of that. "How does it feel, to think you not only can't feel the emotions you're entitled to, but that you have no choices?" He hesitated. "Even…freed."

"Mark, why are you trying to hurt me?"

"I'm trying to help."

"It doesn't feel like it," she said darkly.

"Amanda. Why do you think you are here? Tell me what you **feel**. This isn't about my being judgmental. Nor am I Sarek. I'm not going to go off the deep end. Nor am I going to run to some scandal sheet and blurt it out. Just **talk** to me."

"If I would let myself think about it…it upsets me. And that's useless because it isn't his fault. I took all that on, agreed to it, with full knowledge or not, before I was married. And I live up to my obligations If anyone is at fault here, if anyone failed, it's me. No one understands that. It's **my** failure."

"How full a knowledge did you have?"

She looked at him, and refused to be drawn. "No. We are **not **going there."

"Okay, you are so insistent that it is your fault. I don't believe you, but I'll play. How badly are you at fault?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked suspiciously.

"What exactly will it take to ease that feeling that you're at fault for what happened? Is it bad enough to make you leap from a parapet?"

"No," She denied.

"Bad enough to resist in a situation, even unconsciously, where you think such resistance would get you a broken neck?"

Her head went up. She stared at him, wide eyed.

"Bad enough to run into the desert at night, in the foothills of the Llangons where it's almost certain you'd make some Lematya a tasty meal?"

"That's **enough**," she said, scowling.

"But it would solve almost all your problems wouldn't it? The first solution required you take the fatal step. But **you** couldn't do that. The second, that Sarek do it. And **he** couldn't. The third would have left it all to a wild animal. No guilt there. Amanda, exactly how bad is your guilt – and how far are you willing to go to see yourself punished for it?"

She looked as stunned as if he had hit her with a phaser blast. "Do you honestly think I…?"

Mark shook his head, leaving the question open. "I don't know. I think it's worth exploring. You tell me."

"I don't know either." Her brows were raised in amazement. "I never thought it through that way."

"Well, now that you have, answer the question."

She shook her head. "I really **don't** believe I'm doing that."

"What other explanation do you have?" Mark asked. "Let's think about this logically. You're a very smart woman, in a very difficult situation. If you can't handle it, perhaps you are looking for an out, even unconsciously. You said before, when you were chattel, you saw all those options, but were not free to act on them. Well, now you're free. There are no locks on the doors now. You can leave. And yet you **won't**. Something is frightening you."

"But it's not **Sarek**," Amanda insisted.

"Whatever. The part of you that is demanding **some** action, some response to that fear, becomes panicked at your refusal to act. And it's not a very smart part of your brain, but it recognizes how to get your attention."

"But I **love** Sarek. He wasn't even home the last time I panicked."

"Do you love him all the time?"

She sat back, scowling. "Oh, don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious. Do you love him all the time? Or is it – what you said – that 95% of the time when you feel relatively safe that you love him and the remaining 5% you're afraid."

"Even then, I love him."

"And what about the primitive part of your brain that says – this guy is dangerous, this is crazy, I'm getting out of this situation? How do you placate that part of you?"

"But that's – Look, Sarek can't help his biology. But I can – I'm supposed to have the emotional maturity to deal with my feelings. I'm human, emotions are something I should be able to handle. What you're telling me is that I'm failing at that too."

"If you want to call it that."

She turned away. "No. I can't accept that."

"Amanda, I am not telling you that this is happening. You're living that truth. The panic attacks happened; they were real, they were yours. You don't understand why they are occurring. But I think they happened with good reason, as unwelcome as they've been. Maybe it's a wakeup call, in more ways than one. Amanda, feelings like you are expecting yourself to deal with – they are not feelings or situations **any** human could be expected to deal with, especially long term, without repercussions."

"I've managed so far."

"How badly do you want to break down before you acknowledge that you might have an issue? And convincing yourself you can take anything because you're supposedly human adaptable is not realistic."

"It's served me so far."

"Only because you're **very** strong willed. I think its effectiveness as a coping skill is wearing thin. That your stint as chattel finally wore it out."

"Mark, this is my life. It's not something imposed on me. I chose it. I love my husband, and he loves me. Yes, I've had things in my marriage that were…difficult, but I've tried to do the best I could, and thought I did pretty well on all. And now you're asking me to accept that all this time, I've been a failure. That my emotions are as much a …a ticking time bomb as Sarek's biology. Worse."

"You keep saying you love Sarek. That he loves you. But he's Vulcan, and like all Vulcans supposedly dedicated to a life of logic – and non-emotion. Isn't that true?"

Amanda flushed. "Yes. Except in marriage. That's one area of a Vulcan male's life, as I understand it, where logic dictates that passion must have precedent."

"That seems a contradiction in terms."

"I'm not sure I can explain it any better."

"Let me ask you a question," Mark said slowly. "Do you love the human in Sarek, the facets of his character, his personality, his emotions that he shares in common with you? Or the Vulcan?"

She looked at him, eyes wide. "I love all of him."

"All? You love the part of that succumbs to Pon Far?"

She made a face. "Don't pretend to be Vulcan, or think as Sarek does. Pon Far isn't that bad."

"I've patched you up after some of those Pon Fars. You want me to reiterate some of the injuries you've gotten at his hands?"

"That's rare as you well know. Mark, it really isn't that bad."

"From what I gather, the intensity of Pon Far is cyclical – some are light, some more intense. So that he doesn't generally hurt you only means he might be in a less intense cycle, right?"

"Mark, I really **don't **want to talk about it."

"Do you love the part of him that raped you, nearly killed you – would have, if T'Pau hadn't intervened – made you a chattel and locked you up?"

"I made **myself** a chattel. I locked myself up. I had a choice you know. Even T'Pau counseled me to Challenge. Or just leave him. And you know how dearly she loves him. What that must have cost her. I chose not to take those options. And Sarek did let me go."

"I can't help you if you refuse to face facts."

"Those **are **the facts!"

"Then answer this question. Don't you really love the part of Sarek that matches your human expectations of what a spouse should be? And aren't you afraid – terrified – of the Vulcan?"

"No." But she sounded less certain. Something was bothering her about that.

"When you first met him, wasn't it the aspects that you and Sarek shared in common that most attracted you, that made you feel you could choose him?"

"I love all of him."

"You didn't look at him and think – he's not so different from me. We have some things in common."

She made a face. "Mark, that's my field. I won a Nobel for it. Comparative ethology is what I do."

"My point exactly. You **don't **see the differences – at least not so much as the similarities."

"There **are** more similarities than differences."

"Maybe so, but the differences are killers. Aren't they?"

"Oh, what do you want from me?" She asked in exasperation.

"I want you to feel better about yourself."

She stared at him in astonishment. "That's it? That's all?"

"What else?"

"You don't want me to leave Sarek? It seems to me that you've been pushing pretty hard to get me to say that. That that's been the whole point of your argument."

"Only if that would be what it took to help you recover."

"And you don't think that it is?"

"That's up to you, isn't it?" He sat back. "And I admit I've been trying to elicit that from you." He shook his head. "But that's not what I'm hearing. Not yet, anyway."

"What are you hearing?"

"That you love your husband, but you are having some troubles dealing with the differences between you. That you are deep in denial about that, and have been for years. That you coped through your chattel status, and perhaps before with this "can't say no to sex" business, by disassociating against the very real threat you feel about it. And having reached the limits of that strategy are paying for it by having your mind force you into the panic you wouldn't allow yourself to feel before. And that you feel so guilty about it, or are still dissociating relevant to it, that you can't remember the attacks afterward. And that you might be trying to escape from this knowledge, or punish yourself for it, in an ultimate way.

"You make me sound absolutely crazy," Amanda said dubiously.

"Not crazy. Just in trouble. I do think you need to face whatever is frightening you. And however many years you've been disassociating, it is no longer working for you." Mark looked at her. "Maybe it seemed like Vulcan control to you. And worked at the time. But such coping strategies can be a trap in themselves, Amanda. Eventually they become a problem in and of themselves, when they interfere with your ability to deal with the real world."

"The last six months, yes, I'll admit to times when I just stopped fighting everything, and …zoned out. Sometimes it was all I could do. My options were limited. But before – no, I don't admit to that."

"Amanda, do you remember the time I startled you at that party, and you broke down in tears?"

She flushed. "Yes."

"I didn't realize it but you were showing symptoms then. This has been going on for a while."

She looked unconvinced, but resolute. "So then, where do we go from here?"

To be continued…


	47. Chapter 47

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 47**

He looked at her. "Tell me about those lessons of yours."

"I can't."

He sat back. "I have all day."

"Oh, Mark." She shook her head. "Please."

"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important. What's involved that makes this different from _Pon Far_, or from regular lovemaking. Tell me the difference between all three." Seeing her silently shaking her head, he added. "Okay, start with the latter. You and Sarek do make love, right?"

"Of course we do. Not when I was chattel, but before and after, yes." She gave him a look. "I know you're not one of those who believe Vulcans only have sex during _Pon Far_."

"And you enjoy making love with him?"

"Mark!"

"Come on, Amanda, you're not a child. You're not emotionless and it's perfectly obvious you love your husband. The chemistry between you to is apparent even to a casual observer, much less a shrink. I don't doubt it; I just want to establish something.

"Yes. I enjoy making love with him."

"What about _Pon Far_?"

She eyed him. "What about it?"

"Come on. Do you enjoy it, or are you frightened?"

"For a Vulcan male, it's a **very** stressful time – to lose all their control. It's not something they **can** enjoy. If they could they wouldn't suppress even the mention of it. "

"I didn't ask about Sarek. I asked you."

"Do you think I enjoy seeing my husband out of his head with fever? It is a fever, you know. Vulcans don't even **speak** during it."

"So it's terrible? For him and you?"

She sat back, meditatively. "I didn't say that. It …depends on the strength of the cycle. If it's mild, it can…can almost can be enjoyable. But that's rare to have that light a cycle. If it's acute, or even just normal, I don't do anything to joggle his control. That doesn't mean I don't respond. But I wouldn't call it enjoyable."

"You stay passive."

"It's a very…stylized…behavior. He's very strong, Mark. And not in his right mind."

"Like you do in lessons."

She drew a breath. "Yes."

"Sarek's told me they're designed to keep you safe."

"Yes."

He looked at her. "You're really uncomfortable talking about them, aren't you?"

She looked down at her suddenly clenched hands. "Yes."

"He doesn't hurt you, does he?"

She gave him a wry look. "That would hardly be the point, would it?"

Mark eyed her. "So what's your role during lessons?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

She shook herself a little. "I'm not supposed to …do anything. Except to stay passive."

"What are you supposed to feel?"

She swallowed. "What he wants me to feel."

"You do respond?"

"When he wants me to feel it." She winced. "When I'm doing it right, that is."

His brows rose. "Is there a right and wrong way to have sex?"

"Let's just say the great Surak set disciplines for sex as well as everything else in Vulcan society."

Mark considered this. "When I saw you at that party, had Sarek just started these…lessons?"

"No. He started them after we'd been through a few Pon Fars. The first one was light, by Vulcan standards. He thought he could handle them. After he'd been through a few, he just… lost that confidence. That's when it all started. But just after that party, he'd …set some new requirements."

"Just before?"

"I guess maybe a few weeks before. I don't remember exactly."

"A few weeks… How often were you having those lessons?"

"Right then, when I was so upset, every day."

"Every day?" His eyes bugged out, but Amanda didn't notice or notice the expression in his voice, still staring down at her hands, half removed from the discussion. "And now?"

She drew a breath. "The last part of …when I was a chattel, yes. Every day. Then when I was…freed, we didn't. For a few weeks, all we did was make love. A **lot**."

"Every day."

"As often as we could. A few times a day, more like. It was like a second honeymoon."

"And before you were chattel, what was the usual …schedule?"

She looked puzzled, irritated. "Sometimes half and half. Sometimes once a week. A lot depends on where Sarek is in his cycle. And lots of times he'd start, and I just…tease him out of it, into making love."

"So some days you had lessons, and the others you made love."

She nodded.

"But you never **panicked** as a chattel."

"No. Well, at least not that I remember." She looked at him, brows drawn in confusion. "I was not …very present during those lessons. But I'm sure if I **had** panicked, Sarek would have responded in such a way I'd remember that."

"I agree. And he didn't mention you having this problem until now. So I'd say you're right about that." He drew a breath. "And before you were chattel, you didn't particularly care for lessons, but you never panicked during them."

"No." She frowned then, and sat up a trifle. "At least, not like that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't want to talk about it. The answer's no. Not like that."

"Amanda. Did you panic during lessons before?"

She didn't say anything.

"Amanda?"

"Not like…I am now. It's completely different. Not at all the same thing."

"How was it different?"

She looked up at him. "Can't you just take my word for it?"

"No. Tell me how you think you panicked before and let me decide the relevancy."

"I never, never had any trouble ever before, except in a certain lesson."

"What lesson was that? Amanda, I'm a doctor. I understand if you are embarrassed, but I've treated you post _Pon Far_. There's nothing you need to be embarrassed about telling me. Now what lesson is this?"

"Sarek controls everything in a lesson. It's a test of **his** control. **My** control. To make sure we're both conditioned for _Pon Far_."

"Go on."

"Vulcans aren't like human men. He can…make love…well, let's just say he doesn't have any trouble holding himself on the edge. Or me either. As long as he chooses. _Pon Far_ lasts for days and he figures I ought to be able to …stay on the edge…at least for a few hours. But I'm human. And after a while, the feelings, the emotions, the desire, can become …overwhelming. It can be difficult to bear. That's the point of lessons, of course. To test control. To reveal problem areas, and show where controls might fail. And in this lesson, when I couldn't …handle it, I…sort of… panicked. I guess you'd call it that."

Mark considered that. "You mean he denied you release until you couldn't stand it any longer."

"I struggled."

"What did Sarek do?"

"He was still in control. He stopped the lesson. And," she drew a shaky breath, "well, he let me know how disappointed he was in me."

"Disappointed?"

"Because I resisted. I fought him. Not that I meant to, but I can't do that. It's a danger to both of us."

Mark considered that. "What did he do?"

She looked away.

"Amanda?"

"He didn't physically hurt me."

"What did he do?"

She turned back. "It really is a danger if I fight him. He was very disappointed in me. Frightened of what might happen if I did that in _Pon Far_. He …lectured me. Scolded me until… I cried."

"I should hope you did."

"You think so?" She sighed. "Well, there's one area you and Sarek agree. I know it's a failure on my part. But I hate that he makes me do that."

He looked up, startled. "I'm not saying I agree Sarek should do that. Just that I'm relieved you're not so divorced from your emotions that you **can** cry. I hope he took that as a warning."

"You don't understand."

Mark frowned, puzzled. "You mean, he didn't." She didn't answer, and he thought back to what she'd really said. "What do you mean, he makes you cry?"

"He had to make sure I would learn never to struggle, or resist him again."

"You're not even allowed to say no to this," Mark said, with dawning comprehension.

She looked up at him. "No."

"So you're saying he's done this…more than once? He didn't learn from the first time?"

Her face flushed. "I mean **I** didn't learn from the first time."

"Are you saying," Mark couldn't quite believe it, "He repeats the very conditions that caused you to panic the first time?"

"Sometimes I still hit that fight or flight response. I don't mean to - it just…over whelms me. And he understands."

"Are you telling me this is the lesson he's giving you?"

Amanda just looked at him.

"If he understands, then why does he keep putting you through that?"

"To make sure, when I hit that wall, I …I cry, rather than fight him. It's dangerous for me to fight him. He could hurt me in _Pon Far_, if I did. So he has to make sure, if I reach that point, that I'm trained to resist with tears, rather than struggling."

Mark was flabbergasted. "You mean, he makes love to you, denies you release, deliberately, until you can't bear the tension any longer. Till you panic. Just so that he can make sure you cry and not physically resist him?"

She looked away again, the blaze rising in her cheeks.

"Amanda. Is that what he is doing to you?"

"Yes!"

"My god. It's inhuman." He heard himself say it, and shook his head at the incongruity. "How often does he give you this lesson?"

"Maybe once a week. When he's leading up to Pon Far."

Mark's jaw dropped. "You're telling me that for years, sometimes as often as once a week, he's been deliberately inducing and reinforcing a panic condition in you during a sexual act?"

She looked at him mutely.

"I wonder that you haven't flung yourself off that parapet yet. I would have. That's – no **wonder **you're having panic attacks. Don't you see? He has been deliberately **conditioning** you to have them during sex. For years. He's training you to have them. And you can't even say no. Didn't either one of you realize what he was doing? Or the implications?"

"I guess… I never thought of it that way." Amanda said slowly, her head down.

"Were you thinking at all?"

She met his eyes. "Maybe not. Probably not."

"You were dissociating again then."

"Oh, I'm no shrink. Call it what you like. He's told me repeatedly we have no choice. Anyway, most of the time, I don't mind. It's what a good Vulcan wife would do. Though a Vulcan would probably learn it the first go round. I'm the slow case."

"Amanda, that's nonsense."

"Why shouldn't I want to do something my husband needs? He's good to me. Outside of the demands of his biology – and I agreed to that ahead of time – he's always been kind and loving."

"Always?"

"I can hardly fault him for having a temper when I have one too. We're both stubborn and pigheaded at times. As for the lessons – they're not so bad, most of the time. It's not as if he's trying to hurt me. He's not keen about them either. They're …traditional. They're meant to keep us both safe."

"I don't give a damn what his intentions are. And that it isn't a physical injury doesn't mean it doesn't harm. **You're** not Vulcan. And for a human that is psychologically…" he caught himself and forced back his initial response, "very damaging. Nightmarish. It's no **wonder** you're having problems. I think it's amazing you can function at all."

"I'm okay. Really. Humans are-"

"**Don't** say it. My, god, Amanda. **No one** is that adaptable." He sighed and then said, "What did he do then?"

"He'd let me cry for a little while, to make sure that's all I'd do. Then he'd be satisfied, and …finish us both."

"What happens if you do lose control and fight him?"

She sighed hugely.

"What happens?"

"I get another lecture, another lesson, the next night. Until he's reinforced the proper response."

"Is he angry with you?"

"Not angry, exactly. Not really. He used to get…frustrated sometimes. Impatient at worst. He didn't understand why I couldn't control. He's come to accept that I can't help it. But he's not pleased. He hates that lesson as much as I do. He doesn't enjoy having me make him repeat it."

"Having **you** make **him**?"

Amanda shrugged.

"How long has it gone on before you've given him the proper response?"

"A few times it went on for three or four days. I don't remember. Just…almost longer than we both could bear."

"You must have been a basket case by then."

"It can be hard. But I know he is doing it to keep me safe."

"Amanda, that is not keeping you safe. It's hurting you, damaging you. I can't believe you don't, at some level, feel some anger about this."

"I don't."

"You're not helping yourself by denying your emotions."

"Denying my – Mark, what do you expect of me? I don't have a choice. **He** apparently doesn't have a choice. Do you think I could have survived as long as I have in my marriage, human to Vulcan, if I hadn't been able to adapt, about this and a hundred, a thousand other things? Should I hate my husband for being the Vulcan that he is? I might as well hate him for the color of his eyes. He is not **human**. I never expected him to **be** human, regardless of your psychological theorizing."

"It seems he expects you to be Vulcan."

"That's not true. Except in a few areas, he doesn't impose behavioral standards on me."

"And if they're critical for him, I imagine they're critical for you, too. What makes you believe you're more adaptable than him?"

"I don't have a biology that undermines my control."

"Maybe not as obviously as Vulcans do, but don't sell yourself so short. If the Achilles heel for a Vulcan is **biology**, for a human it is **psychology**. Emotion, if you want to call it that."

"A marriage like mine is a **compromise**. We both adapt where we can – or must. And I trust that he does what he needs to do to get both of us through _Pon Far_. And for him that means this. **I** don't think I need it, but for him, it's necessary. And I don't have a choice."

Mark shook his head. "What about afterwards? How do you deal with each other?"

"That lesson is very hard for me. Exhausting. When he's finished, I'd just… sleep."

"And the next morning? Were you angry with him?"

"I'd just be grateful we'd gotten through it."

"You weren't angry?"

"Relieved. Happy. We would both be relieved. Usually we make love the next morning. Just to erase the bad feelings."

Mark shook his head again at this evidence of love. It had to be love, to survive all that. "But while you were a chattel, you never once panicked?"

"No…" She seemed a little surprised herself at that.

"Never fought him?"

"No." On that she seemed definite.

"Never cried?"

"No."

"Yet he gave you this lesson?"

"Yes."

"And you …held that state, as long as he wanted, until he gave you both a release."

She nodded.

"Yet, after he released you from chattel status, the first time you had this lesson, after this two week or whatever hiatus where all you did was make love, you did panic."

"So he says. I don't remember."

Mark considered this. "Do you think you were panicking because it reminded you of your chattel status?"

She looked puzzled again. "I wouldn't think so. I was only a chattel for six months."

"Do you think you panicked because you were angry and resentful about lessons being resumed, and couldn't deal with those feelings?

"I don't remember feeling angry."

"Were you frightened?"

"Not of him."

Mark looked a question.

"Maybe of myself. Of whether I could…get through the lesson. I guess I was still feeling pretty…fragile. Though I pretended I was perfectly fine."

"Sarek says **you** thought **he **thought you said no."

"I would never say no."

"He didn't say you did. He said, he decided against a lesson, and you misinterpreted his behavior and then panicked. Why would that interpretation panic you? I mean surely in 20 years of marriage, there must have been times when you…"

Amanda met his eyes and slowly shook her head.

Mark eyed her sharply. "You have lessons, or make love nightly, or even more often, and you've never once said no? Never had a headache? Never put him off?"

She half smiled. "This is Sarek we are talking about. Can you imagine me putting **him** off?"

"Come on, Amanda. Twenty years….You've never had work interfere, or some other obligation? Some logical excuse? You've never stopped a lesson, on your own, for any reason?"

"Nothing takes precedence over biological imperatives. Sarek is very…obdurate about that. Anyway, I was warned before I agreed to marry that this was one area where **no** was not going to be in my vocabulary. The healers were very clear on that. Very clear. The idea of a female saying no to a male, when the ultimate alternative to the male is death, is just **inconceivable** to Vulcans." She shuddered herself at the thought, then shook her head, a little impatient, at his dumbfounded expression. "I told you I don't have a choice in any of this."

"So whether you want it or not, huh?"

She sighed. "Don't make it sound worse than it is. You're thinking of this from a human perspective."

"You're human."

"**He's** not. And he can't help his biology or the cultural methods Vulcan seeks to deal with it. And it's not like I walked into this unawares. I was instructed before my marriage. And I agreed."

"I bet you didn't know about this particular lesson though, right?"

She didn't answer, which was answer enough.

"Or even about these disciplines at all?" He persisted.

When she stayed stubbornly silent, he sighed. "So he can't help his biology. What about what you can't help?"

"I guess that's why I'm here."

He considered that, sitting back, watching her. She'd recovered some of her composure.

"He said that he couldn't reassure you. Would you be **that** terrified if he thought you refused him?"

She thought about that seriously. "I don't know. It would depend on the circumstances."

"Suppose no _Pon Far_. He's in full control. What would he do if you flat out refused him?"

"I couldn't **do** that."

"What if? What would he do? No matter that you say you wouldn't, imagine how he'd respond. Say he comes home from work one day, and you're there, working on a paper or maybe making dinner, you know, busy with some chore, and one thing leads to another, and you say, no, no way."

She looked at him, eyes wide. The words jogged a memory in her mind. She closed her eyes. She could see herself, chopping vegetables. She put one hand on the other, feeling the sharp pain of the gash.

"Amanda?"

Sarek coming up behind her, her red blood on the counter. His hands on her shoulders. She drew a sharp, painful breath, the memory of that near fatal night flooding back.

"Amanda?" He stared at her, watching as she began to tremble. "Easy. Calm down." He reached out an arm to her, but she shrugged away from him.

"Can you answer me?

She got hold of herself, shook herself out of it.

"I'm all right."

"What were you thinking of?"

"Just…the night before he-"

"Raped you. Did you refuse him then?"

"No. Of course not."

"Why did he rape you then? Amanda?"

She was shaking her head. "I don't know."

"You must know something."

"Just…aggression from a bondmate can trigger…aggression…in kind."

"Were you aggressive?"

She looked at him, her eyes suddenly full of tears.

"Amanda?"

"I…" her voice failed her.

"What? What did you do?"

"I …threatened to leave him."

Mark drew a breath in turn. "I guess that's a refusal all right." He waited, watching while she fought to get back her composure. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." He offered her a tissue, but she ignored it, wiping her eyes with her hands.

"I'm all right now."

"Why did you threaten to leave him?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter anymore."

He considered that, her manner lending truth to it. And decided they could get into that later. "Outside of that incident, has he been violent?"

"He's a lot stronger than me. He doesn't have to get violent." She sighed. "He just is very quick to …respond. I've learned to be …careful."

"Is saying no aggression?"

She laughed without mirth. "Almost anything can be interpreted as aggression that isn't passive. If I kiss him rather than let him kiss me. I first found out about this when I gave him just a playful nip during a kiss once."

"Have you ever done that again?"

She stared at him. "Are you kidding?"

"Does his reaction frighten you?"

"Sometimes. Usually I'm just startled. He's just startled. He doesn't mean to do it. It's just…a sort of …reflex. It's not intentional. But why would I want to undermine his control in that way? It's not safe for either of us."

"Has he ever hurt you?"

"He usually catches himself before he hurts me. That's why he pins me down."

"You must hate that."

"Hate it." She said the words as if tasting them. "I don't know. It's just what is."

"Has he ever raped you, other than that one time?"

She looked at him for a moment, and then answered flatly. "No."

"Still, you haven't answered my question. Worst case. What would he do?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "He'd break my neck."

"You said that before. But you just told me you resisted him, during a lesson. You didn't just say no. You struggled. Fought him. And that he **didn't** break your neck. He didn't even hurt you. He stopped the lesson, gave you a lecture, made you cry, and then went right back to it. And then proceeded to chance the same the next night. It doesn't sound like **he's** too worried about breaking your neck. In fact, he seems to be courting that very response."

Her eyes were wide. "Do you think this is some kind of game he's playing? I'm playing? Some sort of kinky fetish? This isn't a question of what either of us wants. It is serious."

"Amanda. You haven't answered me. Did you ever before consider the paradox of what I just said?"

"No."

"Did you ever ask him why he had to give you this lesson that you both hate so much?"

"No."

"Did you ever ask him why, if he has that much control, why this lesson is even necessary?"

"No!"

"Are you even allowed to ask questions about his customs?"

She put her face in her hands. "You're right. I don't ask any more. At least, not about lessons. I stopped asking…years ago." She raised her head. "Now, I just try to get through them. Mark, Vulcans don't **think** about their traditions. They are conditioned not to. Particularly where Pon Far is involved. They just practice them, and think anything else is anathema."

"Well, it's time to start. Why not pick a time when he feels in control – and if he's in control enough to give you a lesson, I think he ought to be in control enough to talk about them, and ask him those questions."

"Because I don't have a choice about submitting to lessons. He's made that plain from the first."

"It's time you challenged that."

She just looked at him, utterly unconvinced.

"Are you afraid?"

"What, do you think I am, stupid? Mark you're only asking me to challenge a husband who doesn't take well being challenged. The last time I got locked up for it. And it turns out that he had a darn good **reason** for practicing that control, didn't he? My husband could have died from that fever. And I was a near casualty of it myself. There is no way I will risk that. I just won't. I don't care if I have that lesson every night from now till eternity. That I can take."

"I beg to differ."

"I won't risk it."

"You plan to die first?"

She looked down. "I'll figure out why I'm doing that. The panic stuff. And stop it."

"All on your own, huh? Without help from me or Sarek or anyone?"

She looked at him, challenge in her blue eyes.

_To be continued…_


	48. Chapter 48

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 48**

"I've managed so far, haven't I? I just didn't understand. Now that I do, I will again."

He gave her a sharp look at that. She didn't notice it, her head down. And he thought about that. Amanda was …pleasant to him, when their paths had crossed. Cordial. Even friendly, after a fashion. But she always kept up a certain reserve.

He sometimes thought she'd never recovered from the trial by fire she'd been put through, not by Sarek, but by the Federation press. She was the first to marry a Vulcan, and she hadn't just married any Vulcan, but a prominent, Federation Ambassador. And then they'd discovered he wasn't just that, but the head of the Vulcan High Council, the leader of the ruling clan. The press had run the Cinderella story – and her – to ground. On Earth, they'd pursued her so voraciously she'd needed heavy Federation security to go anywhere. And he'd gathered, based on the sudden review of all offworlders credentials just before she'd come to Vulcan, that there had been other security concerns, apart from the press.

Vulcan's prominence in the Federation and human xenophobia made her a tempting target. On Vulcan she was less vulnerable to those dangers, particularly after the security review. Even on Vulcan, she'd been a target of the press until Sarek had one by one expelled – had thrown off world – any members of the press who violated a proximity rule he'd imposed with regard to her. The press and paparazzi photographers who'd followed her to cover the story of her adapting to her new home planet had howled about free speech and first amendment rights. And Sarek had countered coolly that Vulcan might now be a Federation planet but Vulcan law took precedent over Federation law. Those that broke the proximity rules found themselves escorted onto starships while their replacements' visas were indefinitely held up.

Meanwhile Amanda shook off the worst of the paparazzi by giving the best of the press interviews under very controlled conditions. She was photogenic, young, pretty, and amusing, and - even more so in this alien setting - undeniably human. Even that press who tried to paint her unsympathetically couldn't do much about the fact that the camera loved her. The pictures of her in her new rose garden, playing with her husband's pet sehlat, made every news service from Antares to Zebdalon. Exactly as she'd intended. It was hard to regard Vulcans as alien, as threatening, hard for the more xenophobic of the Federation press, and those in Federation politics, to work against Vulcan's policies, between the one-two punch of Sarek's devastating logic and political clout, and Amanda's disarming charm and popular appeal. A year under the unblinking scrutiny of the press had made Amanda very shrewd, under that sweet smile and innocent blue eyes. For those of the press that respected their new limits, she made sure they got a story to file, something to appease their editors with, and became something of a press darling for them. She was always good for a quote, and those that played the game got what they needed. Those that ran her to ground got nothing, except an unwelcome escort by the Palace guard onto a starship shuttle and the wrath of frustrated editors.

And outside of those controlled press opportunities, she was carving out room to breathe.

Amanda had turned around the situation, made it serve her even as it had restricted her. She was news; she was becoming something of an unofficial interpreter to humans for the alien factions of the federation. The press were under the gun to cover her. But they could get what they needed only if they played the game. Eventually the tactics, a combination of carrot and stick, worked.

Slowly but surely Amanda had regained some of freedom of movement, even if only on Vulcan. With the press tacitly leashed, she'd tentatively reached out to the society in which she'd found herself, those few humans who populated her new world, embassy people, mostly. And discovered that even though they lived on Vulcan, had lived there longer than she had, so new to her adopted world, she still was subjected to prurient curiosity. And more than a little suspicion.

She might be the press' Cinderella, but to the human diplomatic corps, she was something of a Mata Hari, a human undeniably in the other camp. It had been a bitter lesson for her. Particularly since her new Vulcan relatives had hardly embraced her either. Shunned by both sides, she'd had only Sarek to sustain her. Only him that she could really trust.

And he must have been worth it, because she seemed, for the most part, very happy. And Mark sensed that Sarek wasn't at all regretful that his wife was reduced largely to his company. Mark had always found him a little arrogant. And now considered he'd been proven if not a somewhat selfish, then at least a possessive man. How much of that was biology was hard for Mark to say. Though it was pretty obvious he loved his wife, at least to Mark's inexpert eyes.

Regardless, at least at first, Amanda had had few but him to fall back on. But rather than becoming cowed or frightened, she'd faced up to it, and damned the lot of the embassy staff who'd shunned her, and perhaps her Vulcan in-laws too. She'd made other friends, such as she could find. Human teachers and researchers at the VSA, and others. And with a strength of will that had surprised Mark, she seemed more than able to find happiness in what she had, and no regrets, at least none obviously visible, about what she lacked.

But the experience had left a mark on her. She'd never lost her now innate caution and reserve. Not even with him.

Perhaps it was small wonder she'd panic if she thought she'd lose Sarek's support. She had few really close ties but him, and she extended only a partial trust even to those she had. Her loyalty, first and foremost was to her husband. At least since her marriage, she held the bar into her inner circle very high. Himself being no exception. In all the years he'd been her physician even post some rocky _Pon Far_s, when he'd patched her back together, she'd rarely let her guard down before him, seldom unburdened herself or gave away any confidences. Even the few times he'd had her in hospital, she'd kept a certain reserve. Until Sarek walked through the door, and even suffering from the injuries he'd inflicted on her, she smiled like the sun rising.

He had to admit, he didn't really understand that. Or her.

He'd been concentrating more on the idea that she was angry she couldn't say no. Now it seemed he'd been wrong about that. It was more like she was afraid of Sarek's response if he thought she did say no. It put the internal conflict another level removed from where he had thought it might be.

She'd had no response to his question about whether she was angry. She was essentially out of touch with her resentment over her inability to consent. She wasn't angry. She either wasn't feeling anything on that score, had repressed her emotions so often she wasn't able to feel anything, or she couldn't admit to it – had disassociated so often, she didn't recognize the emotions she had. Either were not good signs.

Her actual issues, the catalyst for her behavior were on an even deeper level. It wasn't anger she was feeling, but fear. She was terrified. Or terrorized. Whatever anger she might want to feel had no chance to get out from that very real fear.

And yet, as fearsome as Mark suspected Sarek could be, he couldn't be that bad. For one thing, she did love him. And for another, he obviously **could** handle her refusal, her denial, her rejection – or she wouldn't be here before him today.

How much of her fear was rational? And what was setting her fear off now?

And what about the anger she had to be suppressing? She denied it, yet anger had to be there, somewhere. Fighting to get out. She admitted to fear. Apparently she felt she was allowed to feel some fear. But anger she repressed. Was her panic, in part, that the anger she'd so long denied was demanding to come out? "Amanda. Doesn't it ever make you angry that you can't refuse him?"

She looked at him.

"Does it make you angry?"

She jerked her head, and he thought it might be a no, then he realized she was just looking away from him.

'Does it make you angry?"

"Don't ask me that."

"Why not?"

"Are you trying to get me killed?"

"I take it that's a yes."

"Don't – I can't feel anything about this Mark. It's not safe."

That answered that. She was fully aware she'd repressed those emotions. Had done so deliberately. He shook his head at that folly. "You understand that it's not safe, or sane, for you to deny those emotions."

She didn't give ground an inch, meeting his eyes with surprising coolness. "Then I'm in a paradox, aren't I?"

"Yes." He frowned. "You certainly present me with a puzzle. I don't know what to say to you. Something seems to be terrorizing you, but neither of us knows what that is, and the fear is making you panic. You've got a lot of anger bottled up inside that you really need to express, somehow. And you've got a husband who's deliberately training you to panic during sex, in the mistaken conclusion it will keep you safe during _Pon Far_. The first two will take some time, but the latter is easy enough to change."

She did blink at that. "To change?"

"Amanda, he can't keep doing that. It can't possibly be helping you. I don't know enough about the psychology of Vulcan woman, but that …lesson isn't something a human woman should be subjected to. It has got to stop, right now. Before it damages you anymore."

She just raised her brows and shrugged. "I don't think Sarek will accept that. Anyway, the same argument has been used for _Pon Far_ as to why humans shouldn't marry Vulcans. I've always come through well enough."

"He'll damn well have to accept it. Amanda, I am not kidding. What he is doing is very serious, very dangerous, very damaging to you. It has to stop. Immediately. I'll tell him myself. He can never give you that lesson again. Or anything similar to it."

Her blue eyes had gone round at this. "Mark, you can't. Mark, don't. **Please**."

He'd didn't think he'd ever seen her change so swiftly, from cool self possession to …fear. He tried to reassure her. "Amanda, he's the one that **asked** for my help. And I think he can handle it. At least, right now he can handle it better than you can handle the damaging results if it continues."

"But he asked you for help for **me**."

"This is for you. For both of you."

"You can't tell him what he can do - in his bed – with his own wife. He won't …understand."

"I'll have to make him understand, then, won't I? He's an intelligent man."

"He's not a man. He's a Vulcan. I'm not sure you could even get to that point before his…emotions…would come into play.""

"He's supposed to have control over his emotions."

"And we both know why Vulcan's control so stringently. His reactions at least in this area can be so …precipitous. Please don't talk to him about this. Let me handle it."

"Would you? It seems to me you're too afraid."

"You're damn right I'm afraid. For me … and for you."

"I'm the doctor, not the patient." He frowned. "You think he might hurt me?"

"Oh, how do I know? I think you're in a dangerous area with a Vulcan male. His control is not something I'd care to test. Particularly not on this."

Mark eyed her. "Amanda, let's think about this for a moment. Sarek is a diplomat. He goes toe to toe on issues involving Vulcan and the Federation. Critical – even volatile - discussions are his business. Control is his life's philosophy."

"This isn't about who has sovereignty over how many parsecs of space. It's about his household, his wife… and his bed."

"And he's also a Vulcan, and emotional control is one of the principle cornerstones of his life. I think he can handle it. If not, then he needs lessons in control more than you do. And it's past time for him to start learning"

"But this is the one area where Vulcans **do** let their passions rule. I've learned never to challenge him in this."

"Oh, Amanda, that's nonsense. He's not made of spun sugar. Emotions aren't going to melt him."

"Mark, please. He just recovered from a terrible illness. He just let me **go**. And I want to stay free. Please don't risk that for me. You can't risk that for me. I won't let you. I'll – I'll fire you first!"

For a moment he stared at her non-plussed. And then they both laughed, though he sensed she was still under a terrible tension. "Amanda, naturally I wouldn't, couldn't do anything against your direction. But as for firing me – you know I'm the only human physician on Vulcan."

"I don't care. Mark, I can handle this – I have for years. Now that I understand what's happening to me I'll…just figure out some way to deal with it."

Mark shook his head, not in denial, but frustration. "He's the one with the Vulcan controls, and you're forced to repress your emotions, to deny them, because you can't risk his anger? And not just anger, his lack of control, this violence. It's as if you're dealing with two Sareks, in the same person. One you love, and one you daren't antagonize. How closely does the latter Sarek live under the first?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"Oh, it used to be on his cycle, how close or far he was from _Pon Far_. But he does have a temper. And now with the _vrie_, well, I can't any longer assume that where he is in his cycle gives him more or less control. That was the mistake I made the last time."

"Does he vent his temper on you in bed?"

Before the _vrie_ began, no. Never. Then, yes. Now, I'm not sure. It hasn't come up. Yet. Don't risk that for me. I couldn't bear that again." She drew a sharp breath. "At least," she added, in a subdued voice, "I would find it …very hard."

"Sounds like you're terrified of that too."

She flared up again. "Of course I am. Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life as a chattel?"

"Would Sarek do that to you?"

"If he needed to, if he had to, if it happened again, yes. And to answer your next question, yes, I'd have to do it too. Not that he'd want to, but he could and would. And so would I. But right now, Mark, right now, I'm not sure **I **can. It's too soon. Please don't risk it for me."

"Do you think he learned anything from the last time? Could he resist it? Repress it? Let you go?"

"I don't know. I don't see how. Once he's in that state, he's not thinking logically at all. The least slip on my part and he overreacts."

He thought about that, compared it to Sarek's statements. "Amanda. Do you think Sarek understands that about himself?"

She thought about that for a bit, her shoulders dropped, more relaxed than a moment ago. "I think he can go as deep in denial about certain things as I can. It's a last coping skill for both of us."

_So much for that_. "What about you?"

Her shoulders dropped. "I wouldn't want to go. He's still Sarek. I **love **him. And do you know what would happen to him if I did?" She shivered. "Somehow I'd pull myself together, and manage to get through it again."

"I don't think you deserve that."

"It has nothing to do with what I deserve."

"Amanda," he leaned forward. "Are you sure you want to stay with him? Not take this …chance…to leave? After this conversation, I honestly think that might be best. For you."

She met his eyes and nodded. "I'm sure."

"You wanted to, tried to, leave him before."

"I never **wanted** to. There are times, though, when I exhaust even my coping skills. This last time… I just didn't understand. Like you don't understand now. And now that's not going to happen. Ever. Unless he sends me away. I won't leave him. And he won't," she shook her head. "He won't."

"You must really love him."

"Do you think I would have married him if I didn't? Of course I love him."

"Even now?"

"Now more than ever."

He sighed. "Then we just have to figure some way out of this mess."

"How tactful. This mess, as you put it, is my life. It's a little late to imply how badly I've managed it."

"More like your life is difficult, and you've coped the best you could. Without much help. And whatever I may think of that, better you get that help late, than after you've been a lematya's supper and you have no life left."

She sighed. "So my chickens have come home to roost. And I'm thrown onto the questionable safety of a psychologist's couch. What now?" She looked at him. "I mean, really? What can be done? Sarek is still Vulcan. I'm still human. I still have to live here, in this culture, with his biology. In spite of my …talking…nothing has changed. As I knew it wouldn't. And forgive me if I find it hard to believe that **you** can understand my situation or help me with it, better than me."

"Thanks a lot."

"Just that you can't know much about marriage to a Vulcan."

"I know some things about human psychology. And what can't continue."

"I am not sure about that."

"Which is why you need – you both need - an objective opinion, to help you understand things a little better. And **you** need to talk about the conflicts you are in, and come to terms with them consciously, rather than denying or suppressing them."

"Talking about it is what I've always avoided."

"I don't mean gossip."

"Even so, I am not sure how talking about it can help."

"It's better to acknowledge your issues, than deny them and let your unconscious mind serve you up a panic attack. Or worse."

She winced. "How I hate myself. My life is hard enough and then I do **this**."

"Amanda, your condition isn't something you did or choose. It's something that was done to you. Deliberately. Well intentioned or not, your panic attacks are probably a direct result – conditioned - from Sarek's lessons. Yes, being locked up certainly didn't help, but I think it was only a matter of time anyway. This has happened because your coping skills have a limit. Even Sarek's had a limit – or he wouldn't have ended up in _vrie_."

"Don't try to blame Sarek; it only makes me feel worse."

"We'll go into that another time."

"Not if I can help it."

"For now, why do you think your control should be superior to his? He had trouble. Now it's your turn."

"I don't want my turn."

"Well, you get one anyway. And yours hopefully won't require so drastic a solution."

For the first time, she looked at him with hope. "Do you…do you really think so?"

"That's something to consider for next time."

"Next time?"

"You didn't think you were going to get off with just one session, did you?"

She bridled. "I have yet to hear anything too constructive to make me think it worth another session. I'm not sure I agree with your conclusions and you certainly haven't given me any solutions. Just dire warnings, and lectures and arguments."

"You have to come up with your own answers. I can only help you explore them. So think on this – how can you make your life less hard?"

Her eyes widened and she drew a sharp breath. "Is this T'Pau's doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"**Everyone **wants to wrap me up in cotton wool. T'Pau, you, even Sarek, though he pretends not to. I'm **not** incompetent."

"I didn't say that. And I haven't heard from or seen T'Pau in months. You're the one who just said your life is hard. Unless you're lying to yourself now, or you were before, then it must be true to you. So since you seem to be having trouble dealing with all of it," he ignored the sharp breath of near protest she drew at that, "then think of how you could make it easier."

"Dropping these sessions."

"Apart from that."

She looked down. Then shook her head. "I can't."

He paused, considering her. "Do you keep a journal, Amanda? A diary?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Like I would really risk someone getting hold of such a thing. No, of course I don't keep one. What do you think, someday I plan to write the true story of my life for the masses to enjoy? I've already had enough of people prying into it. If I never had to give another interview to the press, I'd dance a jig on an interstellar newsfeed. I do that because I have to, but I'm not likely to do anything that might jeopardize what little privacy I have."

"Who the hell can even walk up to your door? You live in a damn castle, Amanda. Complete with walls, gates, and guards. Not to mention scanners, forcefields and top Federation level security. All you're missing is broken beer bottles on top of the walls, a moat and the crocodiles."

"We have lematya instead. You don't have to fall into a moat to get eaten. Just walk outside the gates after sunset."

"My point exactly. With all the security around your damn **fortress**, plus your inadvertent Vulcan guard cats, no one unauthorized is going to get hold of such a thing."

"My private life is private, Mark. I don't plan to share it for so much a copy. And don't tell me that's ridiculous, even your receptionist was out there reading one of those damn Harlequin romances set on Vulcan. She tried to hide it when I walked in and got so nervous she ended up practically throwing it at my feet. Honestly, to think that a grown up woman would sink so low. And when she's supposed to be working too."

"Everyone's entitled to a little fantasy."

"Not at my expense. You see whose pictures are on the cover. Oh, they computer edit them just enough to get them past the libel laws, but it doesn't take any imagination to recognize who they're writing about. And that I am being undressed and held up for ribald speculation for so many credits a copy. Not to mention Sarek too."

"Well, they tried once to get you to sign on as a consultant. You could have made a lot of money capitalizing on that," Mark teased

"Not even I behaved that way, and I **married** him. Where do these woman get their ideas?"

"From you. Come on, Amanda, you two started the whole fantasy Vulcan craze. A virtual industry, certainly an icon. Prominent handsome ambassador, pretty human girl, swept off your feet-"

"I never was. Mark, we made a **logical** decision to marry."

"Logical, my foot. You loved him. It was a classic Cinderella story. You've got the prince. You've even got the castle."

"I take exception to all of that. It's all very well for Sarek. His role isn't too far off the mark – though some of the things they make him say! - but I was never some pathetic little love sick Cinderella, chasing after a prince."

"From what I remember of the story, the prince was chasing Cinderella. Isn't that right? Maybe that makes it a little more apropos?"

She started, and then actually blushed, the color rising high in her face. "I didn't know you subscribed to the fantasy."

"Amanda, don't be silly."

"I had a career and a life. It's almost an insult."

"How do you know what's in them anyway?" he teased.

"Oh even my students forget and inadvertently leave them lying around. Reny used to scoop them up and read me the worst of them, the more repulsive parts. Even act them out, playing both parts. Some of them are really awful. She used to make me laugh about it." Amanda half smiled at the memory. "I have to admit it made it easier to face those same students the next day."

"Do you miss her?"

"Let's not talk about that. She's not the first friendship to be a casualty of ..." she sighed. "Of my marriage, I guess."

"That's something else to write about."

"What are you, a spy for Spy Magazine?"

"I wish. Then I could make a fortune. You might do it just to set the record straight," he suggested, with half a smile.

She sniffed, unimpressed. "People prefer the scandal sheets. **And **their Vulcan Harlequins. Anyway, what they dream up is tame – juvenile - in comparison to the real thing. If any Vulcan actually took leave of his senses long enough to make an offer to the women that read that drivel, they'd probably run screaming to the far end of the Federation. Marriage to a Vulcan is not a fairy tale. As well I know. At the very least, it is hard work."

"Good point. But the reason I suggested you keep a journal was not to sell it to the scandal sheets - though you're right, you'd make a damn fortune. But that sometimes things make more sense when we put them in writing."

"I don't need to write anything down to know that I've lived it."

"No. But it can seem less fearsome. Easier to face. And as for knowing that you've lived it, that's an odd thing to say considering you've been disassociating at least in some areas for years."

"So you say. Not very much, if that."

"A little or a lot, it's a dangerous and addictive practice. Facing that in black and white has got to help. And sometimes, then, the solutions come more easily."

She just regarded him doubtfully.

"Amanda, I think it is important. To write that down, from your past. And for now, when you're afraid, and why you're afraid. I want you to think back to your chattel period, and look back at times you disassociated. All the times you disassociated that you can remember. And just write them down. Then we'll look them over together, and see what we have to deal with. And how we can deal with them."

"I'm really not sure I want to do that. I'm certainly not going to bring something in here."

"I'll ban the Vulcan Harlequins. And the scandal sheets. I'll have the office swept for bugs."

She just shook her head.

"Then keep it at home. You don't have to bring it in. But you need to start facing that part of you, and nothing really compares to facing it in black and white."

"Mark, I really don't like the idea."

"What exactly are you afraid of Amanda? Someone getting hold of it? Or you facing the truth?"

She bridled at that.

"Look, you need to do this. You spent six months locked up for him. Surely he's worth this. It's for both of you. Unless you want to keep going screaming into the night."

"I never screamed."

"Just give yourself a little time," he said darkly.

She flinched. "All right! Right now I'd agree to almost anything to get out of here."

He studied her. Her body language clearly spoke of exhaustion, and they'd had a double session already. "Yes, I think we've done enough for today. You can go."

She looked at him, as if wanting to debate that he even had the right to say whether she could go or stay. But then she just gathered her things and left.

And he watched her as she went out, a human in Vulcan clothes, her hair elaborately braided in a Vulcan style, and shuddered in sympathy at the thought of the life she'd chosen. He agreed with her. It **was** hard.

Coming into the outer office his receptionist was watching Amanda leave, disappointment plain on her face. "Something wrong?" Mark asked.

The girl looked up, flushing. "I was just hopi –wondering – if the Ambassador was going to come by again." She got up from her desk and went to the window, craning her head to watch Amanda leave the building.

"Oh, honey," Abrams said sadly, "you don't want to go there."

"I didn't mean," the girl flushed. "I was just hoping to see him, that's all." She sighed. "He's …so hands-" she caught herself again. "So distinguished."

Mark went back into his office, shaking his head. What **was **it about Vulcans that brought out these fantasies in women? Except that somehow he had the feeling Amanda hadn't been caught that way. He looked at the notes he had made, the closed office door, thinking of his staff just beyond. The embassy was a tight little world. And people **were** too interested, even twenty years after that controversial marriage. He picked them up, weighing them in his hand. And then fed the pages, one by one, into the recycler, to be reduced to their essential atoms.

But later that day, after wrestling with her own reluctance, her own fears, Amanda took out a blank book, and slowly took pen to paper and began to write down her own memories.

_To be continued…_


	49. Chapter 49

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 49**

At the Fortress, T'Lean paused outside the master suite. She had no business in here, but she was still drawn to the place. It was almost a compulsion. And Sarek was at Council Keep, the human at the Academy. The other servants rarely entered their private suite, except T'Jar, and her she had sent away. She'd be undisturbed.

She didn't notice Sascek following her.

She entered.

She passed through the outer rooms – they were not what she was interested in. And she entered the bed chamber. It was the same as always. The wide bed with its clan shield coverlet. The human apparently made it every morning, as if she was a chamber servant. Indeed, she served best as such.

She passed through the room, and paused, hearing voices. But it was only through the long open windows, in the court below. She crossed to be sure, and saw two gardeners down there, doing maintenance on the flowerbeds around one of the pools. She drew back, so she should not be seen were anyone to glance up.

She should leave. And yet, she drew back to the table, where stood the frames of chattel conditions, written in each of their handwriting, Amanda's and then Sarek's rescinding the first. As she reached out a hand to pick up the one in Sarek's hand, she saw another item on the table. A book. She frowned in disgust. The human was so …untidy. Books were archaic, unwieldy things. There was no logical excuse for using them over more conventional media access. At best, they belonged in the library upstairs – or in the human's study. Not in the bedroom. She picked it up, and knocked over a stylus that had been lying by it. Her fury increased at that. She had not seen the stylus. She would not be able to put it back in exactly the same position. If Sarek had noted it, he might realize someone had been in here. She could only trust the human would not, or would pick up the book again, and make him think it was the human's doing. She opened the book, to see what it was, what likelihood that might be so.

And saw it was not a book, but a journal. A diary. The human's thoughts, written down on paper. She flipped through the pages and saw, written in the human's own hand…

_When I found it very hard to take I'd go up to the sentinel port, at the very top of the roof gardens. Sarek's favorite meditation spot. The desert floor is hundreds of feet below. The stone parapets are old, and crumbling. And I'd think, a step too far and all this would be over… Of course I'd never do it, but sometimes it just helped to know I had some sort of out, even a final one. Some sort of control._

T'Lean's eyes widened and she closed the volume, nearly crushed it in her hands. That the human had considered such a thing. Come so close to what T'Lean had long desired herself. The human's death. Of course, confined as a chattel by a Vulcan male berserk with a chronic blood fever, of course she must have considered it.

Just as T'Lean had long considered it for her. How odd to think their thoughts converged, even on this.

And another thought came to T'Lean. Why not give the human what she had so long desired, but been unable to do for herself? With this book as evidence, her death …her murder…would be ruled a suicide. Sarek would be free. Grieving yes, but free. And T'Lean would be here still. In his household. It would be logical for him, then, to turn to her, logical for him to choose a Vulcan woman, after the grief a human's quixotic unstable emotional state had brought to him.

She could get rid of the human, at last, and have no suspicion, no shame brought to her, or Sarek. And the human's very death, her apparent suicide, would make him turn, this time, to his own species. And no doubt, cling even tighter to logic, give up any idea of passion in a marriage.

What she had so long sought.

She could get rid of her.

She held the book to her breast with both arms, and she …smiled.

On her face, the expression was not joyful. Nor pleasant.

She took the book, slipped it into her tunic. The human was untidy. She left things everywhere, her clasps, her books. She had so far said nothing to Sarek about her items going astray and then returning, though T'Lean had observed her distress. She would borrow this book, read it. The human would no doubt continue to say nothing.

Perhaps she should even keep it, So that the human would not have an opportunity to lose it in fact before T'Lean would return it somewhere, so serve as evidence for the human's demise.

But for now, she had to leave this place, lest she be discovered where she was not to be.

She moved quickly to the door, and then, midstep, she felt it. The tug, the pull, the call. Of a bondmate in ultimate need.

And her triumphant smile faded.

A hitch in her plans.

But also, another opportunity to move one step closer to her goals.

_To be continued…_


	50. Chapter 50

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 50**

Amanda returned from teaching classes, and undid her hair before her mirror, thinking how strange it was. At the Academy, she was fine. At the Academy, she never lost anything, or was confused, or frightened. Mark must be right; it was her reaction, to _vrie_, to her chattel status, that this plagued her only at home.

She brushed out her hair, and discarded her teaching clothes for a cooler shift, thinking hopefully of a swim. Thinking too, that if it only plagued her at home, then she was not totally lost. She would get hold of herself here as she'd gotten hold of herself at work. And glanced, for reassurance, as she did a dozen times a day, at the double frames on her bed table. A sort of a …check. The frames were reassuringly, comfortably there. But then she noticed something that was not.

She went around the bed, and looked on the floor. Looked under the bed, behind the table. Her journal, the one she'd been keeping for Mark. For her, really.

It was gone.

She wrapped her arms around herself, bit her lip. She then went through the suite systematically, turning everything over. Went into her office, and turned everything over there.

It was gone.

Another thing inexplicably lost, disappearing.

She came back into her bedroom, sat down on the bed, and wrapped her arms around herself, tears falling. She didn't understand what was **happening** to her.

When Sarek came home from Council, Sascek was waiting for him by the hanger. Sarek gave him a sharp glance.

"It would seem you are neglecting your duties, Sascek."

"T'Lean has been called home. For an _Unspecified Fever_."

Sarek tensed a little. That was a Vulcan euphemism for _Pon Far_. It was used everywhere on the planet. Statistics keepers used it. It was reported as such on the news. So many males, even rarely, some females, succumbing to an "unspecified fever." Amanda had been ignorant of the meaning, and once, when the number had been particularly high in Shikhar – there had been three - she had turned to him, worried it was some epidemic, worried for him, and asked why Vulcan medicine, so advanced, didn't have the technology to determine the cause of this fatal illness. Spock had been old enough to understand, and he'd given his mother a look of unreserved astonishment that she should be so ignorant. An ignorance Sarek had strove to keep her in regarding those particular reports. He'd had to explain to her later, when they were alone, that it was not uncommon for some males to die in the fever. And as for the females…there were dangers there as well. It was why Vulcan bondmates practiced control, had the lessons they had only begun to practice. She'd been astonished. And distressed. Not for herself, she was still touchingly naïve in that regard. But that it brought the dangers of _Pon Far_ from the fable that she'd relegated them to in her own mind, closer to home. Closer to them.

He reminded himself that she had long ago agreed to do anything to prove her fealty in _Pon Far_.

And this was not his _Pon Far_. And he was not even quite at the midpoint of his usual cycle. He forced himself to relax.

"It would seem my conclusions were in error."

"Sarek…T'Lean was in your private quarters today."

Sarek swiveled to skewer Sascek with a glance. "What was she doing there?"

"That I do not know. But I followed her as she entered your suite, and then I entered myself, and she was in your bedchamber."

Sarek wondered what purpose T'Lean could possibly have in his bedroom. "Did she see you?"

"No. Tapestries are excellent in that regard."

"Did she bring anything? Take anything?"

"Not that I could observe."

Sarek shook his head, mystified. "What business could she have there?"

"Perhaps T'Pau was correct."

Sarek gave him a sharp look. "Perhaps. Very well, when she returns you must guard my wife as before. But until she returns, you do not need to follow Amanda so closely… in the house."

"Very well."

And after Sascek left, Sarek pondered what could so motivate T'Lean. Did she resent Amanda for her humanity, for taking possession of an honored clan position? Was she the Vulcan equivalent of those anti-misogynists who had threatened his wife from the first days of their marriage? Or was it something more personal. Could it be jealousy? It would be unusual in a female. But T'Lean was of Surak's line as well. And he had personal experience that such was not impossible, even for Vulcans.

_To be continued…_


	51. Chapter 51

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 50**

**Stardate 2229.12 Terra**

In the Vulcan Embassy, Amanda was surprised to see her colleague escorted into the room where she and Sarek were talking. "Jacob? This is unexpected. Sarek, you've heard me speak of him. And Jake, of course you know the Vulcan Ambassador, from news footage, if nothing else."

"Ambassador." He gave Sarek a cool nod. He didn't offer his hand, which, to a Vulcan, was polite. But he didn't look as if he would have cared to do so anyway.

Sarek nodded just as stiffly.

Jacob turned to Amanda. "We have some business to discuss, if the Ambassador can excuse you for a few moments."

Sarek frowned, looking from one to the other. His impression that this human thought he had claim to Amanda was now no longer unfounded, based on the fact that he showed up here. Even if only in a purportedly business sense. Though Sarek still disbelieved that was his sole intent. But as she had not yet chosen **him**, Sarek had no claim to her. And no reason, nor right, to disallow such a meeting with a business associate, much as he might like to contrive some excuse. For he didn't believe it was business. At least, not based on the human's attitude, **entirely** business. His first suppositions about the man he believed were proved correct. The human might not admit he wanted her. But he wanted her.

Sarek went away, deeply foreboding.

Jake looked after him. "He calls you by your first name?"

"And I, his. What is it, Jake?"

"You haven't answered me about that research proposal."

"Actually, I have. I told you it was out of the question until I wrapped things up here."

"How long does an ethology study take, Amanda?"

"Jake, you know better than that. These sorts of studies can take a lifetime."

"I'm not talking about something so in-depth. A preliminary survey study on a few converging Vulcan/Federation interests is all you agreed to, and that normally takes you six weeks. Maybe eight. It's been nearly **ten**, and you're still hanging around here."

"I've been working on other things as well."

"From what I understand, you handed in your preliminary report."

"There have been other issues."

"So you schedule them for later. After our prior commitments. Or let the Vulcans get someone else."

Amanda made a face, "You and I don't have prior commitments, Jake."

"I admit I wasn't convinced your reassessment had merit. But the review committees, not to mention the press, have overruled that, and it's obvious that it has."

"Don't flatter me too much," she said.

"And don't judge **me** too harshly. All academic dons have a tendency to be prima donnas in some respect. I plead ego. It's never pleasant to acknowledge conflicting views."

"You mean you concede the validity of my research?" she asked, raising her brows.

"I concede that it has validity in the academic community, and in the public."

"But **you're** not convinced. Jake.—"

"Look, the BBC has approached me for a sequel series. Eighteen segments. Shot on location, Terra, and throughout the Federation."

"Congratulations."

"A **joint** one."

Amanda just regarded him askance.

"And with it a joint lecture series. At thirty different Federation universities."

"That's…good news," she allowed cautiously.

"It's fantastic news."

She shook her head. "But it's a lot more than I've agreed to. You only asked me for one additional lecture series, at Harvard. Like the one we did at Cambridge. And a few weeks for a follow up documentary. **One** one hour documentary. Not an 18 part series."

"Things have changed."

Amanda drew a breath in acknowledgment of that. "Yes. They're changing for me too, Jake."

"Amanda, I'm talking about something bigger than working for a private business client. Yes, you've been …kind…to give the Vulcans so much of your time. I'm not sure it is in the Federation's best interests. In fact, I rather think it isn't. We can talk about that later. But I understand you've been under pressure from the Federation Secretary of Union to be available as needed. But you've done that. Surely you've can plead prior commitments, and refer them to another researcher. They got your name, and the press that went with it."

"So did **you**, Jake."

He looked impatient. "The point is, they've capitalized on that, brilliantly. They can't really need **you** anymore. Someone else can pick up your work here, if you've any left outstanding. And we have work to do, work I need you for."

"Whose name is on these contracts?" she asked, her blond brows drawn together in a delicate frown.

His silence alone was telling.

"Jake, if you had contracts drawn up for me, you were in error. You had no right to even imply I'd do such a thing without asking me first."

"Why ever wouldn't you? It's a gift. We'll win a Zi for this Amanda, or better. And after this, you can write your own ticket, anywhere. You can practically write it now, but this will cement it."

"I'm perfectly **happy** at Harvard. I hadn't planned on going anywhere else."

"Do this, and you'll have your own department there. Or even better, head one up at Cambridge. It'd be more convenient for both of us. No more transatlantic shuttles, commuting back and forth. I know you've hated the commuting."

Amanda half laughed, thinking of the far greater move she was contemplating. "I don't think I can do that, Jake."

He stared at her. "All right. The BBC have been pushing for this anyway, I just didn't think it was called for. But you're smart – and shrewd – enough to know what to hold out for. I'll give you equal billing. And I think that's more than generous. I've got the decade's old reputation, and regardless of what awards and press you've won, you're barely out of grad school."

"I wasn't holding out for better billing," she said remotely.

He eyed her. "I'm not giving you **top** billing, Amanda. You're good, but you are still wet behind the ears. Regardless of whether you have the press eating out of your hand right now."

"Don't **flatter** me, Jake." She shook her head. "If that's even possible for you. Anyway, that isn't what I meant. I may just have other commitments."

"Nothing's better than Cambridge. Is it Farley at the Sorbonne? Or don't tell me it's those idiots at MIT? They're analysts, Amanda, not synthesists. And you job **out **the computer simulates you need, you don't have to collaborate with people that can't think past their computer projections. I thought you'd know that by now."

"Relational dynamics are equally-" she caught herself before she went off on an irrelevant tangent, and an older argument. "I'm may have other commitments than professional ones."

Jake looked from her to the door. "You can't be serious."

She drew herself up, her mouth setting, but said nothing.

"Amanda, I've **seen** the scandal sheets. I actually thought it was a rather cynical, if brilliant move on your part. You've certainly finagled yourself into a household name. I confess I never suspected you of going for the limelight but your ploy worked. That name is selling like hotcakes now, in every popular market. You can write articles in the non-scholarly magazines, get pulled into Federation news commentary work, write for the mass media instead of the purely academic market. Very shrewd. I congratulate you on that."

Her eyes narrowed. "**And** sell a new documentary series. And the popular books, and the media coverage that goes with all that. Interview, articles. **You** want that."

"I grant that. And based on how you've handled the Vulcan, so do you. I said I'd give you equal billing. Our names together right now will open virtually any door, in academia and in media. But we're worth more together than singly."

Amanda turned away. "Jake, I'm not concerned about that."

"What else was all this for?" He gestured to the embassy, and her in it.

"My reasons were legitimate."

"Then you've done your job."

"Even if I have…my reasons now are my own."

"Amanda, nothing is worthy burying yourself here in some make-work job. Surely you realize that you've ridden the Vulcan angle for all that it's worth."

"Despite your cynical view I feel like I was doing legitimate work here. And not for personal gain. Anyway, I may have personal reasons now, for avoiding future commitments."

"Don't tell me that the scandal sheets are true!"

"I don't know," she said simply. "I don't read them. You tell me."

"Are you…seeing…this Vulcan?"

Her lips twitched at his phrasing. "If you mean Sarek, I see him every day."

"Don't be disingenuous."

"Jake I don't owe you **any** explanations for my personal life."

"And what about for the professional?"

Amanda sighed. "I'll consider it."

"What is there to consider?"

"Jake, I fulfilled my initial commitment to you. You got your commentary. I'll do the one shot documentary recap. And the lecture series. What I do in future, after that, is my own business, and I'm still deciding that."

He looked flabbergasted. "And when will you know?"

"A few more weeks, Jake. One way or another, in a few more weeks."

"You expect me to put these people off for a few more weeks? Amanda, there are **commitments** to be made."

"You don't have to tell me that," she muttered.

"And arrangements. Production schedules, film crews, location analysis. I can't put this off a few weeks."

"Well, then do it **yourself**, without me. You may have to anyway." She met his eyes, looking reluctant. "Perhaps…probably…will."

"Amanda, you can't be serious. You're throwing away your career?"

She laughed. "Rather more encompassing than that. Dealing with just career considerations, I mean."

"Then don't do it. Don't do anything you'll regret."

"I'm more than past that."

"Then don't do anything irrevocable."

"I," she hesitated. "I may be past that too."

"Amanda, please…"

She shook her head. "I'm past professional considerations, Jake."

"If you are, that's the epitaph on your career, Amanda."

"Jake, right now, my career is the **last** thing I am thinking about."

_To be continued…_


	52. Chapter 52

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 52**

**Stardate 2250.4 Vulcan**

Sarek watched his wife as she came back from the pool, her hair loose and wet but drying quickly in the near summer sun. She had been careful with sunscreen, but her hair was a still a shade lighter from the sunlight

She saw him waiting for her and smiled, if a little wanly. "Hi."

"Good morning, my wife. When I woke, you were gone."

"Sorry. I needed to work some things out. The pool is a good place for that," she said soberly.

"I am pleased you find it useful." He took her hand, and tucked her arm in his. They walked along for a bit and then Sarek paused and turned her to him. "Amanda?"

She didn't meet his gaze for a moment. "I don't know."

"Is there something I can do?"

She looked up at him, and smiled. "You do already."

Sarek just shook his head.

She took his arm and tucked hers in it. "I won't say I'm fine. I won't say everything is all right. Because I can't. You know and I know that. But I'm trying, Sarek." She sighed. "I'm going to see Mark again today."

"Is he helping?"

"I don't know," she said soberly. "So far, I don't think so. But at this point, I have to try anything that might help me understand what is happening to me."

"Perhaps they were just…particularly bad dreams," Sarek offered. "You seem …fine…otherwise."

She looked at her husband with love. "But I'm not, Sarek. I haven't told you everything. I haven't even told Mark this. But I've been losing things."

"Losing things," Sarek repeated, as if dumbfounded. "I have not noticed you missing anything."

"The things I've been losing have been very specific. They disappear and then reappear."

"What things?"

She drew a breath. "Things …related to my chattel status. Hair clasps. My picture frames. Even my computer, once, didn't rise to my command. And now…"

"Yes?"

"Mark asked me to keep a diary. **That's** disappeared."

Sarek frowned. "The book that was on your bed table?"

"You saw it?" she stopped walking, turned to face him. "Do you have it?"

Sarek's flicked a brow. "Of course I saw it. You were writing in it before we went down to breakfast yesterday. But I do not have it."

"And then we went down to breakfast," Amanda said, brow wrinkled as she remembered, taking his arm to walk again.

"And you left your book on the table," Sarek added reasonably.

"But it was gone when I came home from the Academy," Amanda insisted.

Sarek's brows rose. "Amanda, you left for the Academy right after breakfast. You did not go back upstairs. **You** could not have lost your book. You had no opportunity."

She stopped again, stared at him. "I didn't, did I?"

Sarek shrugged in agreement. "You left with me. If it was missing when you came home, it was not your doing."

She drew a breath. "But it really wasn't there. What other explanation could there be?"

"I don't know, my wife," Sarek looked disconcerted by her distress. "But your book was there when we left. If it was gone when you came home, it was not you that took it."

She sighed. "I don't know whether to be relieved or appalled."

"There may be some perfectly logical explanation. Perhaps one of the staff mistook where it belonged and shelved it in the library. Or your office. They are new to your service. There are bound to be mistakes."

"I don't think T'Jar would do that," Amanda argued. "She never moves my things. She knows better."

Sarek stopped walking, as a thought struck him.

Amanda looked up at him. "Sarek?"

He looked down at her. "It is nothing, my wife. Do not be concerned about your book. It could not have gone far."

"These things never **do** go far, Sarek," she said grimly. "Just long enough to distress me with their absence and then they come back."

"Then do not let them distress you."

"That's all very well for you, my husband. You would not like your possessions appearing and disappearing like a Cheshire Cat. I don't like it either. The Cheshire Cat was mad. Crazy, I mean, rather than angry. And this sort of thing has been driving **me** crazy too."

"But it was not **you** making it disappear. Not this time. Nor are you mad, or crazy as you term it.."

"It's nice that you believe in me. Even after the other night."

Sarek stopped and looked down at her. "It is not a question of belief. Your book was taken by someone other than you, perhaps for some perfectly logical reason. As for the other night, that was frightening. And you were upset. But you had been sleeping. Perhaps you had a bad dream again. You were merely…sleepwalking. I have come to be convinced of that. Mark has told me this behavior is **not** an unusual result of great stress. That is not madness."

"I don't feel that I should be **under** great stress."

"It has been a stressful period. You as much as told me, when I released you, that you would require a period of adjustment."

"I bet you never expected **this**, though."

"Amanda, I was deeply concerned you would leave me. Indeed it was what I deserved. Even a Vulcan woman would have challenged as a matter of course, for a male with that disorder. Do not think I don't understand that this …stress… is my fault."

"Not your choosing."

"But as a result of our marriage." He looked down at her. "I am grateful that you are here, are willing to stay here and work through this. You helped me. Why do you believe I would not help you through these resultant difficulties?"

"_Pon Far_, even _vrie_ is one thing. That's **biological**. No one wants to be married to an Ophelia perpetually on her way to the river, 1" Amanda said crossly. "At the very least, it gets old."

Sarek's mouth half curved in a reluctant smile. "How can you joke, at such a time as this?"

"At such a time as this, it is most needed," Amanda said, with an unwilling smile of her own.

"You are not crazy, Amanda. Except, perhaps, only that much that allowed you to consider marrying me."

"Umm. What a charmer you are, my husband," she said looking up at him.

"I speak the truth. Between the two of us, with your physician to help, we will find a cure for this condition. And then you will be well again."

"You are biased. But I am grateful. And I am going to do my best, Sarek. To beat this. Whatever it is. I'm going to try hard. As hard as you did."

"I would try as well," he offered. "To help."

"You are. You do."

"So far I cannot believe I have done much."

"You believe in me. That's enough."

"Always," he frowned slight. "Amanda, do not hesitate to talk to me. I cannot help if I don't know what you need. And I am not good at guessing in this situation."

She stopped abruptly, and looked up at him. Over the head, the red sun shone down through the curtain of roses. "Sarek, are you going to be late coming home tonight?"

He looked down at her. "No."

"If you are, if you need to be, it's all right," she said exonerating him in advance.

"I will not be."

"I don't want to be alone in the evenings. But I don't want you to neglect your responsibilities either."

"You are my responsibility, Amanda. As I had been yours." Sarek shook his head slightly, "But unlike you, I have no clear idea what to do to help you. No clear course."

She took his hand in hers. "Just keep walking through the door, my husband. That's a clear enough course for me."

_To be continued…_

1 Shakespeare, William, Hamlet


	53. Chapter 53

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 53**

T'Lean walked through the garden court and through the hall into the kitchen. She stood there a moment, looking on the cozy group. T'Rueth was sitting with her feet up on a hassock, half asleep over one of Amanda's antique cookbooks, one of a stack of which she'd had T'Jar, with Amanda's permission, bring down from the media center.

"This recipe for _crepes Suzette_ says it requires a silver skillet. Silver," T'Rueth mused. "We have skillets of various constructions, but none in silver. Still, it's a very interesting recipe. We have oranges in plenty. And if a skillet made of **silver** is required, I am **sure** Sarek would agree that we obtain one."

Sascek had his weapons neatly laid out before him, a sheet of inert paper protecting the wood table, and was carefully cleaning them and checking their power cells, and loading one with sleep darts.

T'Jar sat across from him, chin in hands, eyes wide, deep in another book she had taken from the shelves upstairs, _Alice au pays des merveilles.__1_She finished a chapter and sat back with a sigh. "It is wonderful."

Sascek spared her a glance. "I don't see the logic in reading juvenile fiction. And not even in Federation Standard, nor English, but some even more arcane outworlder tongue."

"It is not merely juvenile fiction, it is a logical allegory. My Lady Amanda told me so."

"What can a human know of logic?" Sascek said skeptically.

"What does a palace guard?" T'Jar returned haughtily. "It was written by a Terran mathematician. And quite fascinating. There is another volume, _Alice Through the Looking Glass_. All the action takes place on a chess board."

"It would have to be a very large chess board," Sascek countered.

"Perhaps Terrans make them life size," T'Jar said, looking doubtful.

"What is a looking glass?" Sascek asked. "Some sort of visual scanner?"

"I am not sure."

"It doesn't seem to me you understand it at all. Perhaps you had better read it in English. Perhaps you'd better read it in Vulcan."

"I am quite practiced in English," T'Jar said, stung. "I am using this to help master my French."

"Surely one outworlder language is enough."

"But the Federation Council meets often in Geneva, on Terra, and there French is spoken as often as English. I wish to learn it well enough to not be an encumbrance."

"You expect to go?"

"Why not? My lady will require some attendants who will be willing to accompany her to Terra. And it is not likely that -" her gaze fell on T'Lean and she rose respectfully, and in some surprise. "T'Lean. Welcome back to your duties."

T'Rueth woke fully. "T'Lean." She gave the formal ritual congratulation Vulcans expressed upon a conclusion of a _Time_, a polite euphemism, and T'Jar and Sascek echoed them.

T'Lean didn't return the traditional response.

The three Vulcans traded glances among themselves. T'Lean was back less than three days from when she'd left. _Pon Far_ lasted anywhere from three to as many as twelve days, depending on the strength of the cycle. Most couples took at least a week for themselves, even for the shorter spells. T'Lean's husband was elderly and it was true they lived apart, so perhaps her rapid return was inconsequential. "Are you well T'Lean?"

"I am merely …fatigued."

"Of course you are," T'Rueth said kindly. "Would you like some tea, before retiring?"

"No." T'Lean shook herself. "No. I will go to my room."

"Rest well," T'Rueth said, to T'Lean's back.

Sascek waited a moment and then rose. "I believe I will retire myself." He looked to see if anyone in the kitchen was surprised at this, but T'Jar had returned to her French Alice in Wonderland, and T'Rueth had brought her book to the table and was laboriously copying the recipe from the antique book to the portable file she was using to store the recipes she found most palatable to Vulcan tastes, translating it for the necessary ingredient substitutions as she went. She had plans to publish her translated recipes. Amanda had agreed to write the introduction, which guaranteed it would get a wider audience than merely on Vulcan. Neither one spared him a glance. He was both grateful for this, and yet, as a Vulcan male, slightly miffed at it, and he went out of the kitchen to make sure T'Lean only went to her bed, slipping his weapons on his belt, dismayed at his own superfluousness.

And T'Lean had intentions of going straight to her room and meditating. But passing through the courtyard to the servants' wing, she heard Sarek's voice, and it stopped her in her tracks. She found herself edging closer, lurking in the shadows.

"It is, after all, incumbent on me to keep you …sufficiently engaged."

"Sarek, when will you stop using that excuse?"

"Indeed, my wife, it was a requirement laid by you upon me from the first days of our courtship."

"So **you** say. I say it was your mistaken inference."

"My memory is quite clear on this point."

"It wouldn't be the first time I've accused you of having a very selective memory," Amanda teased.

"Selective," Sarek said. "Indeed. I can be selective in that regard. I selected you, then. And do now as well. And strive merely to meet your requirements. Is that not correct?"

"Hmmm." She regarded him. She had a desk full of work, but she was sorely tempted. In three days nothing had happened to frighten or distress her, though her diary had never turned up. Her spirits had risen accordingly. "It is true that 'an engaged woman is always more agreeable than a disengaged. She is…satisfied with herself.'"2

"Precisely. I would have you well satisfied my wife. And very agreeable."

"There's much to be said for being agreeable," she agreed.

"And considering the past six months, we have much to make up for, in that regard."

"Yes, we do…half an hour? I really have to finish an article."

"Let it not be said I delayed the pursuit of science."

As they went hand in hand up the stairs, Amanda murmured, only too aware of the Vulcan ears in the kitchen, "You know Sarek, sooner or later we are going to have to grow up."

"Indeed. May I remind you, my wife, that by Vulcan standards, you have twenty years and more in which to be considered in many respects still a child." He pushed open the door of their suite, pulled her inside, and kissed her behind the door. Like a couple of kids. Amanda laughed in a combination of delight and amusement.

She looked up at him and smiled. "Twenty years ought to be just about right."

T'Lean edged into the hall, standing in the stairwell, and listened to their hushed voices and whispers as they went up to their suite. And heard the door close on the human's unmistakable laughter.

She walked a few paces into the hall. Put one foot on the stairs. As if she would go up.

The pain sobered her. Pain from the recent Pon Far she'd been subjected to, her husband's violent attentions. She was not seriously injured. She was only bruised and sore. She would soon heal.

But the human's laughter, Sarek's ardor, Amanda's delighted response, reminded her anew of what she had lacked, what she had even eschewed in her own marriage. Now past. In the hope, the expectation of a man who thought nothing of her. Still thought nothing of her.

She didn't recognize the emotion she was feeling as jealousy. Few humans would even believe a Vulcan could be jealous in this way. Could desire the mate of another. Even the bonded could; it was not outside of Vulcan behavior. Rare but possible.

She was jealous. And her jealousy pained her, even more than her aches from _Pon Far_. And the two, in contrast within her, plus the fallout from her recent activities, spurred something in her, something far past reason.

She had done with waiting. Waiting for Sarek to come to his senses, waiting for the human to tire of Vulcan passions, Vulcan need. Waiting for Sarek to tire of Amanda, send her away, waiting for Amanda to leave.

She would not suffer longer apart from whom she was entitled, by birth and expectation.

That human would pollute this house no longer.

She would rather see her dead.

_To be continued…_

1 Carroll, Lewis, _Alice in Wonderland_

2 Austen,Jane, _Mansfield Park_


	54. Chapter 54

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 54**

**Stardate 2229.12 Terra**

Sarek wouldn't care to ascribe jealousy to himself. But he had made sure he was informed when Amanda's colleague left the embassy. Though he doubted the man considered business the sole aspect of his relationship with her. Sarek didn't waste any time seeking his intended wife out. "What did he want, Amanda?"

"To discuss an upcoming lecture series. Sarek," she reproved, shaking her head at his dissatisfied look. "He is only interested in me as a colleague."

"He doesn't speak to you as a colleague." He gave her a sharp, meaningful glance. "He doesn't **look **at you as a colleague."

"Sarek, all human men **look** at human women. It's part of their biology. It comes built into the model. It doesn't mean they want a relationship with them. Not the sort **you** mean, a long term one. Nor does it mean they'd act on that sort of interest. They just like to look. To a certain degree, it is even considered flattering."

"There are times when I find humans singularly disgusting," Sarek said, not bothering to moderate his tone to one of the controlled indifference suitable to a diplomat.

"Thanks."

"I did not mean **you**."

"I'm human too."

He gave her a sharp look, eyes narrowed. "You have never done such a thing."

Amanda drew a breath at that. "Sarek I am human. If I decide to marry you, I can't be locked up like Rapunzel in some castle-"

"Like who?"

She drew another breath and counted to ten. "Sometimes our lack of knowledge of each other's cultures is a pro, and sometimes it is definitely a con. I can't see explaining fairy tales to you, though if you plan to have much business with humans, you ought to read them. They are archetypal and would give you insight. Suffice to say, human behavior is not black and white, but a continuum. And given that, there are lines that culturally we don't cross. Or if we do, we accept that society frowns on such transgressions. But human males have a tendency toward polygamy, in thought if not in action."

"And human females?"

"Less so. Though even those that haven't may **look**. Even those in relationships. To a point it is considered perfectly acceptable, even natural."

"And to you?"

She turned, mouth open in surprise, even knowing him as well as she did now, shocked that he would be so openly jealous. She closed her mouth and then drew a steadying breath. "**You're** enough trouble all on your own that I rather doubt I'd even have the energy, much less the inclination."

"Indeed." Sarek considered that. "I am well aware from my literature review that humans are less than constant. You are saying that sufficiently engaged in an existing relationship, human females – and you in particular – would be less so inclined. That it is beholden on one's spouse to keep one…sufficiently engaged. I see no issue in that requirement."

She eyed him. "I'm not sure I like the sound of **that**. Or what you mean by it. But let's leave it there for now. I'm not sure I can take much more of this conversation. Jealousy **doesn't** become you Sarek."

"It is not jealousy, to hold one's own **as** one's own. It is logical."

"A wife isn't a possession."

"Perhaps it is so for humans. In my culture, it is far otherwise."

"In mine, considering women to be so is singularly rude."

"In my culture, **not** to consider one's wife as such would be unimaginably inconsiderate. To a Vulcan male, there is nothing else more valuable."

"You mean no **one**. Women are not things."

"I will not debate semantics in English, Amanda. It is a most imprecise language."

"You're a diplomat, Sarek. Discussions such as these **are** your business."

"You have just said women are not things, and then you speak of your status as if you were so many parsecs of space. Perhaps you will concede error."

"I never said anything of the kind."

"I'd advise you to quit while you are ahead," Sarek said, saying the English phrase with a certain relish.

"Oh, you!" Amanda regarded him furiously for a moment, at an impasse, neither willing to give ground, and then she laughed. "This is utterly ridiculous. I never – never – imagined that in my life I would be advocating against jealousy with a **Vulcan** spouse."

Sarek's ears virtually perked at the latter word. "Is that a commitment?"

"No! Honestly, Sarek. You can have a one track mind."

"At least you can be sure in **that**, Amanda, that **I **would not be interested in looking elsewhere."

"And I guess as long as you don't have any **castles** you plan to lock me up inside, it's not an issue for me, either." She sighed. "What a life I would have with you. I'm not sure I can bear it. It certainly is rife with surprises." She eyed him. "On the other hand, imagining anything else is starting to seem…very boring."

"My sentiments exactly." He reached out, and very gently, and caressed her cheek, fingers trailing from her brow to her temple. She recognized the light touch of his mind, and as she was just learning to do, she shielded a little against it.

"Not yet, Sarek." She drew back a pace, and shook her head. "I'm not ready to say _yes_ yet. I still have things to consider. Many things."

And she slid away from his hands and left.

Sarek looked after her, considering. It was as he had first assumed. Her colleague did have designs on her. He was making claims on her. Even if he purported not to desire marriage, Sarek did not trust him.

And as for Amanda…he did not fully trust her to reach the obvious conclusion to their relationship either. Sarek had long ago deduced that the logical course was for her to marry him. He desired her. He understood her. He was determined to have her. And he would give her everything she required. It was thus logical that she marry him, her imperfect human understanding of the situation aside.

And this …colleague of hers… He had **not** declared for her. He did not thus deserve her, and should have no rights to her.

It was up to Sarek to ensure that remained so.

Having made such a determination, Sarek found it easy to act.

_To be continued…_


	55. Chapter 55

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 55**

Amanda had to steel herself before walking through the doors of Mark's office. Admitting to failure was never pleasant. And she had something to confess she had been holding back.

"How have you been doing?

"Mark, there is something I didn't tell you before. Something very wrong with me."

He was silent, encouraging.

"I've been …I don't know what. Either imagining things, or zoning out or something."

"What do you mean?"

"Things…disappearing and reappearing. Computers working and not working."

"Maybe that's been some sort of malfunction?"

She gave him a look. "Come on, Mark. **Vulcan** computers?"

"Sarek did recently change some of that programming."

"Sarek doesn't make those sorts of mistakes."

"Amanda," he hesitated, "Consider this…"

"What?"

"You just said Sarek doesn't make those kind of mistakes. I agree. Is it possible, these **aren't** mistakes? That he's having **trouble** letting go?"

Amanda stared at him, shocked. "Are you suggesting he's doing this to me? No. Never. I would **never** believe it."

"It's a reasonable question. It's either you or him. He was the one with the serious problem. And you'd like to believe he's over it, but-"

"He is. Mark, he **is**. And that doesn't explain why things that should be there, aren't there and then are."

"What sort of things?"

"Things…related to my status, my former status, as chattel. And it **couldn't** be him doing those, because there's been times when it's happened and there was no **opportunity** for him to have been involved."

"Who else could be involved?"

She looked at him, haunted. "No one I can think of. So I guess it has to be…**me**. Not just dreams or panic attacks. I don't have any other logical explanation. I started to keep a diary, and then lost it right away. Mark, I really don't know what to do, or think about this."

"Do you think you lost the diary because you really didn't want to keep it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Sarek says there was no opportunity for me to lose it. But it's gone."

"What do you mean?"

"We both saw it before we left for work. When I came home, it was gone. Neither of us could have taken it."

"Could someone else have?"

"I asked T'Jar if she'd shelved it, but she said no. I can't think of anyone else who might have mistakenly tried to tidy it away."

"Don't panic," Abrams cautioned. "Whatever it is, we can get to the bottom of it, deal with it. You're going to be all right, Amanda."

"But what if – what if, I really am losing my mind?"

Mark shook his head. "We don't have words like that anymore. People don't lose their minds."

"Some people do."

"Not many. And not **you**. Amanda, you've been through a rough time. Cut yourself a little slack, okay? One foot slipped doesn't mean a life threatening event."

"For me it feels that way."

"At least you're remembering and admitting to fear – that's a step in the right direction. Amanda, you live with logical Vulcans – logical most of the time. So naturally a moment's …break…seems even more devastating – more out of control - than it really is. But you're human. It is all right to be upset from time to time. It's even alright to lose control. This isn't _Pon Far_. You aren't going to die from a momentary slip. Now start at the beginning and tell me about these missing things."

And she slowly, gravely did.

When she was done, Mark was grave in turn. "If I didn't know better, I say it **was** Sarek. It's the logical explanation."

"I don't believe that. Sarek's motives are never disingenuous."

Mark frowned. "Are you sure of that?"

_To be continued…_


	56. Chapter 56

**Holography 3**

**As A Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 56**

**Stardate 2229.12 Terra**

Sarek looked out the window at the frigid Terran landscape. Outside sleet was beginning to change to the first snow of the season. Sarek watched the white crystals fall from the laden gray skies, thinking how truly alien this world was from his own hot, dry planet. Given that, what he was about to do was even more outrageous. But he had already decided.

The Federation Secretary of Union, Dr. Henry Fitzgerald, entered the room. "Ambassador Sarek. I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

Sarek turned to the Federation representative. "It is of no consequence. I had much to occupy my thoughts. And I had no appointment."

He gestured him to a seat. "How may I be of service to you, Ambassador?"

"Perhaps you can tell me that. You may be aware, that I have a Terran ethologist doing a study at the embassy."

"Dr. Grayson." Fitzgerald started to sit behind his desk, then reconsidered, and took a chair opposite the Vulcan. He didn't wish to take any action that might seem authoritative or impolitic to the Vulcan representative. "Yes, of course. I trust her work has beneficial to you."

"Quite. However, I have come to be aware that she may have other commitments that may soon claim her attention. Or may seek to claim her attention. And yet, our business is not concluded."

"I see."

Sarek raised an eyebrow.

Fitzgerald blanched. "You wish her to remain at the embassy."

"I wish her not to be importuned away from it," Sarek clarified.

"Her work must be very important to you."

Sarek refused to be drawn. "All that is necessary for you to know is what I have told you. All that is necessary for me is to know if you can be of assistance in this regard."

For a moment Fitzgerald considered the impassive Vulcan. "Forgive me, Ambassador, but this is a bit …unprecedented. Are you saying that this is a requirement for continuing the negations?"

"Let me say I would consider it, as is said in your language, a gesture of good faith. And would look unfavorably if such measures as might be appropriate were not taken."

Fitzgerald nodded slowly. "I see. Obviously if she is useful in continuing the negotiations, then some measures can be taken to release her from other current commitments."

"And future ones." Sarek temporized.

Fitzgerald met his eyes and swallowed at the implacable look in them. "And future ones."

Sarek rose. "Then **take** them, Fitzgerald."

"Of course, Ambassador. Naturally we will do anything feasible to assist you in developing this treaty."

"I am pleased you have been so cooperative, Mr. Secretary. And with that, I will take my leave."

Fitzgerald was so stunned, he almost automatically offered a hand in what would have been a most impolite gesture to a Vulcan, catching himself at the last minute, offering only a sedate nod of acknowledgement. When Sarek had left, he sat down behind his desk, totally stunned. "My god," he said. "The press is right."

"Sir?" The assistant stood in his doorway. Fitzgerald realized he had pressed the button to summon him, but had been too stunned to even realize it.

Fitzgerald drew a steadying breath. "We have a situation here. Get me the Attorney General."

_To be continued…_


	57. Chapter 57

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 57**

**Stardate 2250.4 Vulcan**

T'Pau paused on leaving Council Keep to see her son.

"Sarek."

He spared his mother a glance. "It is late, T'Pau. Cannot this wait until tomorrow?"

She raised her brows. "This is late?"

"It is late for me. I have seen little enough of Amanda, with all these Federation issues."

T'Pau regarded her son, but she could see no flaw in **his** control. But that raised the next source of her concern. "Is she unwell?"

Sarek hesitated, long enough that T'Pau's brows drew together. "She is unwell," the matriarch said, and foreboding claimed her.

"She needs me. I must go."

"Is it T'Lean?"

Sarek shook his head. "Though I am sure being guarded is not helping Amanda's peace of mind."

"How can it affect her?" T'Pau asked, puzzled. "Sascek is very discreet."

"She is human. To her mind, it inhibits her freedom. And that is a delicate issue at this time."

"Should I recall T'Lean?"

Sarek hesitated again. "Sascek has discovered some disconcerting behaviors on her part, though nothing definite. Perhaps nothing will come of it, but I see no reason to withdraw T'Lean. I too would know her intentions and have the outcome investigated. Her behavior **is** odd, something of a concern. But hardly my greatest concern at this time."

"Can you speak to me of these concerns?"

Sarek looked at her, considered how T'Pau had rejected his human wife for so many years, and considered what any failure on his wife's part might engender in the critical matriarch. He did not trust T'Pau in this. And shook his head. 'No."

"Her distress is of the spirit?" T'Pau persisted.

"Amanda has long been distressed in spirit, from **your** first refusal to accept her," Sarek accused, with more than a little residual bitterness.

"Sarek-"

Sarek met her eyes, as unyielding as T'Pau had been all these years, giving away nothing. "This is not your concern. I must go, T'Pau."

Looking after him, left out and alone, the seemingly all-powerful Matriarch considered anew how all actions have consequences. And how regrettable actions could have painful consequences.

_To be continued…_


	58. Chapter 58

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 58**

The sunset was beautiful. The deep ruby sky shaded to garnet, to rhodolite, to amethyst, the stars, so clear in the thin air, shining like diamond accents in a gem sky. Amanda had always liked this time of day. In truth, she liked all times of the day, but now, after the sun set, the cool air moved down from the mountains, falling as cool air did, as if the heavy gravity drew it down like dew. The rush of cool air sweeping down from the hills after the heat of the day was electrifying. It stirred the nocturnal wildlife awake after their daytime siesta, and it gave **her** a second wind as well, even after the long Vulcan day.

Amanda crossed to her husband's favorite sentry point and sank down into a nearby bench, to appreciate the delicious breeze and the stunning sunset. Blue skies would seem oddly anemic, after the deep jewel tones of her husband's planet. Her planet now, not just by marriage, either. Hard to believe she held a seat on the Vulcan High Council.

She'd come here to this spot out of curiosity as much as for the sunset. She wanted to face old ghosts. To bury them. To bury her unreasoning, half-mad chattel behavior. To confront the chattel within her and get rid of her once and for all. And here seemed a good place to face those memories, those fears.

She had tried to do it in a book, and lost the book. So she would do it here.

She heard a rustle, and tore her eyes from the sunset to look behind her. "T'Lean. Did you want something of me?" She hadn't seen the woman since she'd left to serve her husband's _Pon Far_.

The Vulcan stood there, silent, brooding, a foreboding figure in the setting sunlight.

"T'Lean?" Amanda rose, took a step toward her, and then halted. Unsure. Something in the Vulcan woman's posture, her stillness, spoke more of passions barely leashed than of calm. Amanda was reminded of a lematya, waiting to pounce. She swallowed hard. "T'Lean?"

"Human, you pollute our land."

Amanda took a step backward, astonished at this. "T'Lean…are you quite all right? I think you have forgot yourself."

"I recall **you**. **You** cannot be forgotten."

Amanda eyed her uncertainly. She knew T'Lean had been away for a _Pon Far_. She had no idea what such an experience did to Vulcan women. Presumably they must share something of their husband's madness, through the bond. She, herself, had never seemed to, but being human, she was no good example. "T'Lean, I think you are fatigued. You may leave."

"I may leave? I?" T'Lean took another step forward. "You are the outworlder here. Outworlder. Outcast. You do not belong."

Amanda was stung at that. "I do belong. Sarek chose me, and I chose him."

"Thee bewitched him. Thee destroy him."

"That is not true."

"I had thought thee would be destroyed. I determined to wait, till Sarek recovered from his madness in taking a human to wife. But he did not recover. I thought thee would realize thee had no place here, but still thee are here."

"This **is** my place."

"I thought thee would leave, years ago. I thought thee would die in childbearing. That thee would flee from or die in _Pon Far_. I thought thee would remain chattel forever."

Amanda bridled at this litany of gruesome hopes. "So **sorry** to disappoint you."

"But now I see thee will not leave, until removed. Thee are a monster, an illogical animal, who has strayed out of bounds. It is wrong to take even an animal's life, except in self defense or mercy. I claim both. Thee destroy Sarek, and thee do not belong here. Thee will die."

Amanda leapt backward, away from T'Lean's lunge. "You're out of your mind!"

"No." And T'Lean smiled. The expression chilling on a Vulcan. "But I thought **you** did well in such. I quite enjoyed encouraging the state in you."

Amanda's eyes widened in shock. "It was you! All along. You took my things! You locked me in!"

"Humans doubt their own senses so easily," T'Lean purred. "A little more time, and I might have driven you to the desert at night. And you would have died. I would have quite enjoyed that. And consoling Sarek afterwards."

Amanda licked her dry lips. "T'Lean. It is the madness of the _Time_ upon you. This is not you."

"It is not that madness. I have long desired your death. I tried once before, as you lay unconscious in T'Pau's Palace. The mercy killing of an animal, I had thought."

Amanda stared at her, horrified.

"I came so close. But then you woke. And I faltered, hesitated. Would that I had not. Had acted then upon my desire. But then you were chattel and I thought, what matter? Chattel are as **nothing**. And they invariably live short lives. Not even Vulcans can exist long in such solitude, such disgrace. But then Sarek released you, to plague me anew."

Amanda struggled to find some reason to avert the madness in T'Lean's eyes. "He is your clan leader. I am his wife. You cannot do this, T'Lean. You are bound by oaths to your clan-"

"Not to a clan who's heir is a human. Human and half human. Animals and worse than animals. Monsters. It would be meet that you die by a lematya's fangs. Unnatural animal as you are. But Sarek will not leave you now at night, and Sascek is always there otherwise. It would have been so appropriate. But I grow tired of waiting for an animal to do what I must."

T'Lean lunged again.

And Amanda feinted, automatically, without thought, as if she were playing one of the games of chase and catch she and Sarek had indulged in at times.

T'Lean's brow clouded and she snarled. "Stand, human."

"Not on your life," Amanda said, and tried to edge past her, realizing for the first time the precariousness of her position. She was out on the sentry point and T'Lean was before her. She'd have to get past the Vulcan woman to get to safety.

"Mine is already forfeit."

Amanda looked at her, helplessly. "It isn't. Not yet. T'Lean you can be helped. **Let** me help you."

"You? Help me?" T'Lean snarled. And she lunged again.

x x x

In the ground floor kitchen, Sascek looked up from his afternoon tea, as Sarek walked through the door.

"Sascek. What are you doing here? Where is my wife?"

Sascek's brows rose. "But T'Jar told me **you** were with her. That you wished to be undisturbed…" Sascek suddenly paled and turned to the girl. "T'Jar?"

T'Jar's innocent eyes widened. "T'Lean had told me so." She glanced between the two of them cluelessly. "I cannot think how she could have been so mistaken."

Sascek rose to his feet. "Sarek-"

And then there came a scream, high pitched, rivaling a lematya in its piercing quality, causing every Vulcan to jump and tense, but this time from a very human throat.

And Sascek found he was speaking to Sarek's back.

_To be continued…_


	59. Chapter 59

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 59**

Amanda had come to the painful realization that it was not just Vulcan males who were fast and strong. T'Lean backhanded her so hard Amanda literally saw stars and went down. And it came to her, as she fought against the blackness that rose to claim her, how gentle Sarek usually was with her, even in those rare cases where he lost control. T'Lean's strength was formidable.

She didn't try to get up right away; she rolled, taking momentary refuge behind a bench, while she forced her fuzzy head to some kind of clarity. And in that clarity, came anger. Startling, shocking her in its strength, twenty years of snubs and shuns, twenty years of inexorable Vulcans, purportedly so controlled, and her only too willing to take more than her fair share. All that rose up in her and lent her strength. And not just strength, but fury.

She went for T'Lean, no longer on the defensive, but on the offensive. And the Vulcan woman was so shocked by her attack that Amanda got in a good solid roundhouse punch before she was flying past her, toward freedom and safety.

And almost made it, but T'Lean reaching out near blindly caught hold of the long tail of her braid, and pulled her back.

Snarling, kicking, like a pair of lematyas themselves, T'Lean got her hands around Amanda's throat. And Amanda knew what that meant. How easily T'Lean could snap her neck if she got the right hold. She pulled back her hands and boxed T'Lean soundly on both ears, hard enough she hoped she'd broken her eardrums. For good measure, Amanda took advantage of their proximity. She leaned in and done what she should have done from the beginning. She screamed, a high pitched shriek that any Vulcan would find painful even from feet away, and directly into an ear they'd be stunned by. And T'Lean cried out, and let go of her, hands moving to cover her ears.

Amanda rose, breathing hard, staggering to get away. But if T'Lean had been mad before, she was enraged now. She pulled Amanda around and this time didn't try for any close hold on her neck, she tossed her, pitched her, like a cat toying with a mouse. Amanda skidded across the rough paving stones and got her feet under her. And T'Lean grabbed her as if to toss her again. Over the edge.

"No!" Amanda said.

She turned them around, in a step like dancing, and T'Lean, wary of her hands, wouldn't let her go. They grappled, struggling, and then something clicked in Amanda's mind. _Pon Far_. T'Lean had just come from a _Pon Far._ She brought her leg up and kneed T'Lean in the groin, a sensitive spot even for a woman, particularly so soon after the mating fever.

T'Lean screamed in turn.

"Let me go!" Amanda said, but T'Lean's eyes were green flame. They rolled ever closer to the edge of the parapet. Amanda felt the edge of it under one shoulder. Under the other, nothing but space, prelude to a long, long drop. Frantic, Amanda kneed the Vulcan woman again. T'Lean flung herself back from the blow. On top of Amanda, her shoulders hanging over the edge, she unbalanced, and fell off the parapet, at the last moment grappling for the edge.

"T'Lean!" Amanda didn't think twice, didn't think at all, she held out her hands to the Vulcan woman. "Come up."

T'Lean took the hand, got one knee and shoulder half over the roof. Amanda leaned backwards, prepared to drag her up with all her strength. And then the Vulcan woman looked up at her, looked her full in the face, and smiled that chilling, half mad, Cheshire Cat smile.

And before Amanda could react, she pulled Amanda backwards, off the parapet, falling back herself with the force and momentum of her own treacherous act.

Amanda went flying into the ruby sky like a starling freed, T'Lean's falling scream echoing in her ears. The heavy gravity pulled Amanda down, her arms outstretched like wings, searching for anything to cling to. The ground sped up to her, exactly as in her dreams, but then, almost immediately she fell against something, smashing into her ribs. In spite of the pain, she grabbed for it, scrabbled for a purchase, the crumbling sandstone helping for once.

Amanda dug her fingers, her fingernails, even the toes of her sandals into the soft stone. And came face to face with what had broken her fall: The carved head and shoulders of a lematya, fangs bared in a furious snarl, set into the parapets. In any other circumstances, she might have reared back from its ugly visage.

Now, she could have kissed it.

"Amanda!" It was Sarek, looking down from above. "Stay there."

She had wrapped her arms around the lematya head, but even as she blessed it, she could see the cracks beginning around the neck, separating the gargoyle head from the frieze of the building. "It's breaking!"

She flattened herself against the side of the building as the sculpture cracked and broke off. Her fingers and toes dug into the frieze that ran just below the roofline of the building. There was a bit of a ledge, but it wasn't enough. One foot slipped as the frieze crumbled, the sandal falling off her foot to the desert below. So far below. She looked down and grew dizzy, and dug her toenails into the soft stone. And looked up to see Sarek leaning down, arms outstretched. She tried to inch her way up, one hand reaching for Sarek's as he leaned down to her.

He grabbed for the closest wrist. She dug her toes into the frieze and stretched herself up on tiptoe, one hand reaching up. Their fingers brushed and her foot went through the frieze again. "I can't," she said. "It won't hold me."

"Try again." His voice was amazingly calm. A testament to Vulcan control. She could hear shouts from the courtyard. Below her was nothing, but the long drop to the sand. And somewhere down there, T'Lean. Broken. Probably dead. Gone.

Not her. Not yet.

She flattened herself against the side of the building, dug her toes in and tried again, reaching up blindly, putting all her effort into raising herself up. Her hand hard on the broken lematya carving, which crumbled to a firm handhold. She grasped it, unseeing, with one hand, and digging both feet in, reached up again. This time his fingers did more than brush hers. They closed around the delicate bones of her wrist and grasped. Hard. Very hard.

Once again her Vulcan husband forgot himself. Belied the calm of his voice. His fingers closed with bruising strength and the bones in her wrist snapped with an audible crack. Amanda yelped and everything went to a black mist before her eyes. She nearly fainted. Her toes lost their hold and she began to slide. And she felt him slide too.

Sarek swore, Romulan expletives she'd never heard him use.

"Amanda. Amanda! Don't…faint. Amanda, you must stay with me. Stay with me, right here. Amanda, please!"

She looked up at him through a red haze that matched the red sky. Edged with black. She nearly fainted from the pain. She fought her way back to consciousness. Fought back the sickness that went through her, leaving her gulping, weak. She swallowed her gorge with an effort, the adrenalin upsetting her stomach. And incongruously wondered about how awful it was, in the last few minutes of your life, to feel sick to death.

"Give me your other hand."

She looked at her hand, saw with amazement it was wrapped around a slim metal bar that had held the lematya head before it cracked off and fell. She didn't remember finding it, clutching it. And looked up at him, eyes grave.

"No. I'll pull you down. Just… let me go." She felt the tears, which had sprung unbidden when her wrist had broken, slide down her cheeks and fall. Fall that long fall to the desert below. Oh, no. Not her.

"Never," Sarek snarled.

She clung to the side of the Fortress. Tried to calm her whirling head. It would be so easy to slide, to take that fall. But for that awful pain around her wrist, that awful hold that wouldn't let go. "You said…you'd done with never."

"Amanda, come up here. Now!" He used the emphatic mode as if he could order into compliance. As if she were a child, out late. As if she were Spock, gone away into Starfleet, and could be ordered home. She half laughed, half sobbed at that. Shivering in near shock. Never had she so much wanted to obey him. And never had it been more impossible.

But even as the incongruity of that fact registered, the black mists were fading, even too the worst of the pain. She turned her eyes away from the reeling drop below her and looked up at Sarek, determined anew. She tried to boost herself up and lost her other sandal - and inadvertently looked down. The remaining pain in her wrist faded before the overwhelming awareness of the looming desert far below. The adrenalin of panic was kicking in again, canceling out the pain.

She dug her toes back into the stone and scrabbled up a few more inches. And then her foot slipped again and she slid down, yanking Sarek, causing the pain in her wrist to burst out anew. Her head was whirling with it, and with adrenalin both.

"Oh!" She cried out, sliding down, caught by little more than Sarek's hold. And then panic made the pain fade again. She scrabbled back to purchase, whimpering.

"Amanda, give me your other hand."

She looked at her hand, latched tightly, curled around the metal bar that had held the lematya head. It was apparently part of the frieze understructure. It was the most secure hold she had. Except for Sarek's hand around her wrist. Her feet couldn't get a firm grip. She looked down at the desert floor far below. And up at him. She was afraid to let go of her one secure hold. Afraid to reach for him. She was afraid to pull him down with her. Afraid he couldn't pull her up to him, with him. "I can't. I can't let go."

Leaning far over, Sarek grabbed for her arm, came up short. His fingertips brushed her tunic. They closed on her shoulder, on it, and he grabbed the fold of fabric, and began tugging. She leaned her fingers into the stone, pushing herself upward against the bar, almost high enough to need to let go of that hold, hoping to get a foothold on it, to move her grip upward, to reach for Sarek's hand. And then the fabric of her tunic ripped with a tearing shriek. She slid downward.

Sarek swore, lunging for her other hand. Almost flying off the side of the building himself. He missed her hand, and snatched instead the tail of her long braid. He flattened himself against the building. She yelped again, as her hair was pulled hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Now in one hand he had her shattered wrist, in the other, her hair. Though her tears she watched as one-handed, he wrapped the tail of her braid several times around the hand that was holding her wrist, tying it in a knot. It was a stupid thing to do. Her hair wouldn't hold her. But she couldn't argue against him holding onto any part of her. Even though he ought to let her go. His voice came again, calm coaxing. "Amanda. Come up. Just a short way. You can do it."

Now she could hear the more shouts from the guard below. There was a whirr of vehicles taking to the air. But aircars couldn't get so close to the building. She looked up at Sarek, sweat blinding her eyes. Her fingers were slipping too on the gritty ancient metal bar, her hand damp with perspiration. But there was something she had to say while she could. "I love you."

"Now is not the time. Get **up** here."

She slid again, and scrabbled anew. It wasn't just sweat on her face, but tears. She dug hard with her feet, and the toe hold she managed to get broke away. Her feet were bleeding from contact with the rough stone. Her hands were bleeding. She slipped again, and sobbed. "I can't. I'm going to fall."

"I won't let you."

Her toes were slipping again, the gritty sandstone eroding beneath them. And the bar under her hand was working loose. It had been meant to hold a lematya head, not a grown woman. She sobbed as she felt it slide. Panic leant her strength; she dug both sets of bleeding toes into the building and leapt upward. Her hand met Sarek's, their fingers interlacing, and then he let go the split second necessary to grab the wrist beneath, the pain blooming in her other wrist as it took her full weight. And recaught it.

She sobbed.

Fighting for leverage, fighting against gravity, Sarek pulled her upwards, the unreal strength of a Vulcan coming into play. He raised his arms from where they were hanging down at right angles to his body and began to inch back, rising from flat prone position he'd used to reach her to try to get his heels underneath him for leverage and not let both of them go tumbling off the side of the building.

She saw Sascek running up behind her husband. Subtlety was not in Sascek; he wrapped his arms around his clan leader and yanked mightily. Sarek fell back and she went flying forward up through the air over his head, as if she'd been launched from a springboard, arching over both of them. But her braid was still wrapped around Sarek's wrist. When he went down, it pulled her out of the air.

They both went tumbling down to the rough court paving stones, Sarek falling flat, she falling on top of him. She heard Sarek's head hit the ground with an audible crack before she landed hard enough on top of him to drive the breath from his lungs. She raised her head from where she had fallen against her husband's chest. Sarek opened his eyes and blinked, half dazed, breathing raggedly, one hand going back to rub the bump on the back of his head with a bruised and bleeding hand. Her tail of her braid still wrapped around his wrist. His beautiful hands. She'd always loved them. She undid the knot and then kissed his hands, then leaned over him and kissed her dazed and dizzy husband, relief making her frantic yet anew.

Behind them Sascek cleared his throat.

An aircar horn blasted, and landed mere feet away on the paving stones of the court. Sarek, his hand still holding the back of his head, looked rather green himself. And he was breathing funny as if he was struggling not to be sick.

She thought about making some crack about T'Rueth's dinners being too good in this case, and then her own stomach lurched and she lost all sense of humor, and struggled not to lose her own dinner.

One of the guardsmen came over, said, "My lady," in a no nonsense tone, and drew her off Sarek. She'd forgotten she was leaning against him, almost on top of him. She sat up, wincing, sick from the adrenalin, her ribs aching, her wrist a blaze of fire.

Sascek leaned cautiously over the parapet to look at T'Lean, lying broken on the sands below, where another emergency vehicle was landing, and looked back at his bruised and bleeding clan leaders. Eyes wide as he looked at her, who'd been so close to joining T'Lean. And at Sarek, who'd pulled her back.

Sarek managed to draw enough breath to speak. "Amanda needs med-"

And before he'd even said it, an emergency vehicle from the Terran medical center came flying through the forcefields, sirens blasting so loudly that every Vulcan winced and put their hands to their ears. Sarek turned really green and went down from where he was starting to rise. He looked so ill she tried to go to him, and was firmly held back as the Terran flyer landed without prelude on the roof, callously crushing a flowerpot that had held some of her prized Mars daisies.

Someone mercifully cut the sirens, even as a host of medical personnel swarmed out and toward them. And then another flyer from the Healer's Enclave appeared as if by magic, sneaking in while they were all distracted by the sirens, and landed next to it. The parapets were starting to look like a parking lot.

Sarek sat up slowly, pale and washed out. And then he rose. His arm went around her to help her, even as medical personnel surrounded her and she winced. "Ow. Oh, don't. I hit that lematya on the way down."

Sarek let her go, and then sank back down himself. He looked as if he were going to faint.

"Are you all right?" she asked him. And then was surrounded by medical personnel. They ran scanners over her and bundled her into the Terran vehicle before she could protest. She only briefly saw Sarek being helped to the Vulcan one. And then the triox enriched atmosphere of the emergency unit, combined with the drug they shot her with made her feel really dizzy and euphoric.

And Jane was there, looking at her severely, in spite of the silly cap that she wore in her famous portrait.

"Jane?"

"_Run mad as often as you chuse," _Jane counseled._ "But do not faint... faint …faint..."__1_

And then even Jane grew faint. And Amanda fainted herself, for real.

There **was** a time for everything.

_To be continued…_

1 Austen, Jane Love and Friendship


	60. Chapter 60

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 60**

At T'Pau's Palace, the head of her guard jogged up to her.

"Matriarch. There has been an accident at the Fortress."

T'Pau looked up from her work, black eyes flashing. "An _accident_?" On Vulcan such a word was nearly unheard of.

"Sarek has been injured. Thy daughter has also been injured. T'Lean …is dead."

For a moment the matriarch paled. "Dead? She is **dead**?"

"Yes, Matriarch. She tried to **murder** thy daughter. To throw her off the Fortress' parapet." He straightened, regaining his breath and his control, ignoring T'Pau's own widened eyes. "There was a struggle. T'Lean fell."

"And Amanda?"

"She fell as well. But she was able to grab onto a carving on the side of the building. Sarek retrieved her from there."

"Where was Sascek?" T'Pau asked. "Where was her guard?"

"He saved Sarek."

T'Pau drew a breath at that. "You said there were injuries?"

"I do not know the specifics. Sascek reported in. They have all gone to the Terran Emergency Medical Center."

"You will take me there," T'Pau rose. And this time, it was as well she had guards around her, for she staggered herself, nearly fell, under the weight of the news. Her guard put a hand under her arm with no comment.

Amanda came to in a treatment room. And wished she hadn't. She heard Mark arguing with some technician about cutting the dose of some painkiller in half and lowering the oxygen level of the room.

She blinked and put a hand to her head. Her wrist was splinted. **It** didn't much hurt but having her hair pulled so hard left her with the feeling she'd been scalped. Her hands were covered with newskin, glistening slightly. Breathing was distinctly uncomfortable, due to her cracked ribs. And yet in spite of her manifest aches she'd never felt so good. She was **alive**. As close as she'd been to that long fall off the parapets, she couldn't fail to appreciate that.

And, even better, she was **not** crazy.

"How do you feel?" Mark asked, sitting across from her.

Amanda shivered in the chilly, clammy room as she came fully back to awareness. And her primary discomfort. "I'm **freezing**. How do you stand this bitterly cold air conditioning in this place? Get me **out** of here."

Mark adjusted the environmental controls yet again. "Isn't it bad enough I have to face that oven outside, much less in here? Now answer my question - really."

"I'm **fine**," Amanda said. Then she looked at Mark. "I do ache a little. But I want to go home."

"Two cracked ribs and a broken wrist, not to mention various other scrapes and bruises." He looked down at the scanner readings and shook his head. "Doesn't sound fine to me."

"Mark, please. I don't want to stay here in this horrible place. I hate hospitals. I want to go home. There's nothing really wrong with me."

"I beg to differ. But you're right that you have no serious injuries, so I guess you can go if you insist. You should take it easy for a few days though." He gave her a sharp look. "You've had a rough year. The cracked ribs will heal pretty quickly. But I have to admit I'm a bit worried about your wrist. Three breaks in a year or two is a lot of trauma for any human bone. I've pinned and splinted it, but I want you back in my office in a couple of weeks. If I'm not satisfied, I'm going to seed some growth plate factors into the bone. Until then, try not to stress it. Don't go leaping in front of any aircars. Or jumping off any buildings."

"I'll try to avoid that," Amanda said dryly. "I rather doubt the occasion will occur again."

"With you I can never be sure. Does it hurt?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "As full of drugs as you've pumped me?"

"Amanda, I gave you the antidote for what you were given on admission. Now I've given you no more than what I give most humans for a headache. You're just abnormally sensitive to human drugs since you had Spock. It's those copper factors left in your blood."

"Drugs are poison. I never took drugs, even before I had Spock. Now they really make me sick. And I don't get headaches."

"Uh-huh. You've given **me** enough this year, so don't get smug."

"Well, I won't be giving you them anymore," Amanda said, leaning forward eagerly. "Mark, listen – it wasn't **me**. All this time – all those things, it was T'Lean. I know it sounds incredible, in a Vulcan. But **she** did them. Or most of them. She admitted it to me. She's been tormenting me, all this while."

"I've heard some of what happened from the admitting ER personnel. Everyone's gossiping. And you're right in that apparently T'Lean was causing a lot of your problems. But, Amanda," he shook his head doubtfully. "**Some** of your issues have to be valid ones. And from long before T'Lean."

"But T'Lean was responsible for the worst of it - the part where I began to doubt my own senses. And that fueled a lot of the rest. I don't know why I didn't put that together. Especially since Spock warned me."

"Not surprising you didn't. Her behavior was rather uncharacteristic for a Vulcan. And you had a lot going on. She's dead, you know."

Amanda looked uncomfortable. "I don't want to talk about T'Lean anymore. I'm sorry for her, for whatever torment I inadvertently brought her. But she brought me – and my family – a lot more, and all undeserved. And she did try to kill me." She thought back to that moment where T'Lean had deliberately pulled her off the parapet, even though it had meant her own death, remembered that Cheshire Cat grin, and shivered. "Nevertheless, that's all past. I want to forget it."

"I want you to **remember** it," Mark said, with meaning.

Amanda flushed. "I don't mean forget in **that** way. I don't mean disassociate – and I'm **still** not convinced I ever did that. I just meant I want to get past it."

Mark hesitated. "You don't think you need to explore some post-_vrie_ issues? Or even some trauma associated with this event? You must have some."

"Of course I have some," Amanda sighed, thinking of T'Lean lying broken among the scorpions in the sand. "I'm not denying that. Who wouldn't? But Mark, I want to get **past **it. Not rehash it, or dwell on it. Go forward, not back."

"Uh-huh," Mark said doubtfully. "That's commendable. Do you think it's realistic?"

Amanda made a face. "Oh, I don't give a **damn** what's realistic, Mark. I'm not spending the next twenty years whining in your office while your receptionist reads the fantasy version of my life in the next room. When she's not throwing it at my feet. Find someone **else** to headshrink. Your receptionist needs it a lot more than me."

Mark laughed at that. "You are cruel, Amanda."

"Wicked," Amanda said with a reminiscent smile. "The word is wicked. If I have anything to say about my experiences, I'd rather say it to the person that matters."

He grew serious. "**Will** you?"

Amanda sighed. "If I have to," she said. And then she smiled. "Don't push, Mark. I'm going **home** and this time, **this** time, everything **is** going to be all right. I'm so happy!"

"Well, I'll wish you luck."

"Logic. In my family, we wish for logic," Amanda said, firmly. "Have you got a pad?"

Mark fumbled around and found the note pad he carried around for when he lost his tricorder. He handed her a stylus.

Amanda scribbled, "_You're fired_" on the paper and handed it to him with a sweet smile, while he shook his head ruefully. "You are so cruel, Amanda. "

"Somehow I don't think you'll starve in the street. Now can you get my husband in here? I'm sure he's around somewhere. He did bump his head, but he's too hardheaded for it to affect him much. And get me released. I want to go **home**." She said it in Vulcanur, in the emphatic mode for good measure.

"Yes, **ma'am**" Mark said in return, and went off to do the paperwork.

_To be continued…_


	61. Chapter 61

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 61**

Heading to the administrative offices to effect Amanda's release, Mark came up against T'Pau, sweeping into the hospital, flanked by half a dozen hulking guards. The matriarch recognized him, and pinned him with a piercing eagle-eyed glance. "Where is my daughter?"

Mark felt his mouth go dry and his hands get clammy, the typical human reaction to meeting with T'Pau face to face. "Room 2B," he said, and gestured with the hand holding the slip of paper that Amanda had given him. He didn't realize until he did it that he looked as if he were handing it to her.

T'Pau took the paper, glanced at it, glanced at him with an expression as incredulous as a Vulcan can get, raised her chin imperiously and swept on.

"Oh, my god," Mark said, leaning against the corridor wall, barely resisting the urge to let the heavy gravity pull him to the floor.

"What?" A passing nurse/technician asked, grabbing his elbow, as if afraid he was going to slide down the side of the wall.

"I just **fired** T'Pau."

"You what?"

"I'll probably be off planet by tomorrow," Mark groaned.

"Really, Dr. Abrams," the nurse straightened, sniffing disapprovingly. "You are the only human physician on Vulcan."

He sighed. "I am, aren't I?"

"You ought to take your position a little more seriously, and not make jokes at such a time," she chided.

"I wasn't-"

"Look, the hospital administration is asking if you can **please** release Dr. Grayson. That Vulcan Guard is handling the crowd outside, but reporters are overloading the communication system. Unless she needs to stay, we really need to get her out of here. The hospital's not equipped to handle this volume of press interest."

Mark straightened himself up. "It might be my last act in this hospital, so I guess I'd better do it.

Abrams found Sarek dealing with the inevitable authorizations for Amanda's treatment admission. Somewhat extended by an office worker who was doing everything she could to keep the famous Vulcan ambassador before her, while various technicians peered around the door at the oblivious Vulcan. Oblivious to them. Not to Abrams. Sarek raised his head as he entered, and pinned him with a look of entreaty. He must have shaken off his own Vulcan healers to come after Amanda.

"Doctor? My wife -?"

"I've treated her." Aware of the prying eyes, Mark frowned and looked for another location. "Let's go in here to talk." He escorted Sarek into a treatment cube where he could set the privacy shields..

"How is she?"

"She'll be all right. But you knew that she was essentially all right. A few cracked ribs. And…" Mark hesitated, reluctant to say it.

"Yes?"

"She broke that wrist again."

Sarek closed his eyes as if in pain. "**I** broke it. I lost control."

"Well, you were under a lot of stress. Better to grab her a little too tight and break her wrist than be lily-livered and let her drop a couple of hundred feet in heavy gravity," Abrams conceded.

"Doctor…please." Sarek's hands slowly closed into fists.

"Sorry. It's just that everyone is gossiping about what happened. Seems like every ER service on the planet got notified, and while Vulcans don't gossip, humans do."

Sarek breathed out carefully, mastering his control after that image of Amanda falling to join T'Lean on the desert sands. Then he turned to him. "Lily…livered?"

"Don't worry about it," Mark growled and looking down, noticed the Vulcan's hands, bruised from the rough sandstone. And though he was controlling the bleeding, the clenching of his fist during their conversation had started it again.

"Here, let me patch that," Mark offered.

"It is of no consequence. I will soon have it healed."

"I can still clean them up, stanch the bleeding and put some pan-species newskin on it. It will only take me a moment." Mark plied his instruments, the Vulcan's hands in his, while Sarek regarded him gravely.

The intimate contact made it difficult for Sarek to shield. And his own…unsettled state made such shields as he had less effective. And the human wasn't shielding at all. The physician's thoughts, his concerns bled across the contact. And Sarek eyes widened a little.

For all his control, he had still regarded Mark as something of a rival. Like Jake. And yet he perceived now, that wasn't the case. Apparently had never been the case. The deep concern he'd perceived the physician felt for Amanda, seemingly he was also feeling toward him at the moment. Perhaps it was as natural for a human physician as barriers were to a Vulcan healer. Or perhaps it was what Amanda had always claimed, that Mark was a friend to both of them.

It was something of a shock. Of all the human men on Vulcan, he'd regarded Mark with the deepest suspicion. Mark had spoken of his wife with admiration and something akin to desire. Mark was the closest thing his wife had to a confidential relationship and friendship with another human man on this planet. Mark laid hands on his wife professionally, and personally he sought her out, at social functions, to talk to her. He teased her, and she teased back. And he touched her then, too. Not intimately, by human standards, though outrageously so by Vulcan ones. But as humans do. To show his regard. To claim her company.

He'd always regarded Mark as another Jake. Someone who might wish to take her away from him. And now he realized that was not true. Mark cared for her, yes. And for him. As a friend.

Abrams finished his repairs, and let go of the Vulcan's hands. "There. That should be almost as good as new."

"Reasonably functional." Sarek eyed him and said the words human customs demanded. "Thank you."

Mark glanced at him askance for this breach of Vulcan behavior, and didn't respond, giving a Vulcan lack of notice in return for Sarek's human gesture. After a moment he said, "Sarek, maybe this is the wrong time to discuss this. But you and I seldom see each other and maybe now is as good a time as any."

"Proceed,' Sarek said. It had been an exhausting evening. Control aside, he still felt deeply shaken. And dizzy and sick. And it was so freezing cold in this terrible place. His muscles were starting to ache from holding himself against shivering in it. All he really wanted, right now, was to take his wife home, allow them both to recover in decent privacy, in warmth and comfort, to watch her sleep, and meditate himself. He steeled himself to face whatever the human wished to impart.

"I've been urging Amanda to talk with you about your…conditioning routines. I've told her I'd talk to you myself if she couldn't manage to discuss it with you. And I don't think she has. Has she?"

Sarek said nothing. Testament in itself.

"I'll take that as a no. No or yes, I'm going to say my piece. Given these events, it's obvious at least some of what has been happening to her has been the result of a deliberate campaign to attack her, to discredit her. But I've also become convinced that your …sessions…with her, the ones where you bring her to the edge of her control – Sarek you have to realize that for humans, that's **not** healthy."

"Training her to be safe **is** healthy," Sarek argued, slightly exasperated.

"You're not training her to be **safe**, Sarek. You are training her to panic. Every time you put her through that scenario, you're conditioning her to associate sex with fear, with being trapped, with being brought to a near if not absolute panic state."

"No," Sarek denied, straightening, a line between his brows. And then he stopped, a sheeted expression in his eyes. "No," he said again, but this time with a dawning realization. He was so shocked his control faltered, and he shivered.

"Operant conditioning works two ways. At least in this case. You're forcing her to repress her own feelings – and that's never wise in humans, and particularly in women, in marriage. You're inducing a panic state in her. Now, maybe there's **some** logic in thinking that in doing so regularly you can condition her to stay passive under panic. But didn't you realize you were also teaching her to associate sex with panic? Persistently, repeatedly, year after year. Do you really want to enforce so dangerous an association? To teach her to fear her own desire for you? And by association to fear you? And intimacy as well? **That's** what you are doing. And because she can't face what you're forcing her to feel, you've also been teaching her to disassociate herself from those painful emotions. To disassociate or panic. That's one hell of a choice you've given her. Now maybe that works for Vulcans, but it is absolutely anathema to human mental health. Now that you understand, do you honestly believe that these Vulcan disciplines can do her – and your relationship with each other - anything but harm?"

Sarek had closed his eyes. After a moment, he let out a slight sigh and opened them. "I…I would plead cultural blindness. Yet this is past even that. My logic appears to have been seriously in error."

Mark couldn't help but ask. "I've asked her how she could not realize that, and she had no answer. I think she started out trying to please you. By the time she could realize how dangerous it was, she'd disassociated too much to recognize the danger she was in. But how could **you** not realize that? How could you not see what you were doing?"

Sarek looked as if he were wondering that himself. "It never occurred - I know very little of human psychology. In intimacy, apart from - she has never been unwilling. It did not even occur to me that she **could** be conditioned against…" he trailed off, helplessly, unwilling himself to speak of such private interactions between him and Amanda.

Mark straightened. "I know what most Vulcans – hell, what most alien species think. But did **you** honestly believe that myth that humans are the sexual rabbits of all the known species in the galaxy? That nothing you do could affect her in that?"

"No," Sarek protested. But he had closed his eyes again, as if in pain. "I thought it was…control…on her part. She has never been …unwilling or distressed…outside of lessons. And within them, her distress signaled to **me** the need for **more** control."

"You're very lucky in that regard, Sarek. Women can be host to a whole realm of problems in that area, problems I think you've never experienced. You probably don't even begin to understand that. But I hope you realize how fortunate you are. How much she loves and desires you. Because both seemed to have survived even this. But you can't keep giving her those…lessons. Or she won't need T'Lean to throw her off that parapet. As she's always said, she's very adaptable. And operant conditioning, applied persistently enough, **will** work. She's loved you enough that she's fought against those lessons for years, trying not to learn what you were inadvertently teaching. Maybe that's part of why she's been disassociating – trying to keep from learning that. But if you keep on, you will eventually succeed – and destroy the one thing that's saved your marriage, and your life, all these years. That she loves you. That she desires you. And that she has never panicked - when it counts."

Sarek drew a breath. "You need not persist further, Doctor. I acknowledge the flaw in my logic. Those lessons will cease, forthwith."

Mark drew a relieved breath. And then thought of something. "**Tell** her, though, Sarek. Don't leave her in suspense, waiting for you to start them up again, or wondering why they've stopped. That could almost be as damaging."

"Yes."

Mark eyed him. "Will not having them affect your ability to control? Your ability to get through _Pon Far_?"

Sarek was silent for a moment. "I do not know. So I once believed. Had been led to believe. But obviously the harm they have caused her now outweighs any potential value. And …Amanda has always claimed they were valueless in that regard. To her."

"And to you?"

"If they are not, I must yet find another less damaging way to address the issue."

"Find it **with** her, Sarek. Give her a choice."

Sarek raised his eyes, shocked at that. "Naturally. She was given a choice from the first."

Mark snorted. "Cultural blindness indeed. A **real** choice, Sarek. Not that she married you, so everything after that is fair game."

Sarek drew up at that. It hit too close to home. "If you will excuse me, I would go to see her now."

"There's something else."

Sarek forced himself not to show any dismay. "Yes?"

"She must have a fair bit of resentment, even of anger, over what you've done. Not that you did it deliberately. I acknowledge you had the best of intentions. But she still has to be feeling some of that." He eyed Sarek's neutral, perhaps unconvinced expression. "I'll grant much of it is deeply repressed. But at the least she's got years of frustration buried up. She needs to express it."

"How so?"

"I don't know," Mark said, exasperated. "Something to let off steam."

Sarek wearily considered once again the puzzle of Terran idioms. "You mean a catharsis of sorts."

'Yes."

"We already have that in our marriage," Sarek claimed.

Abrams raised a brow. "What do you mean?"

"We play games." Sarek said it simply.

Mark couldn't have been more shocked than if Sarek had told him they swung from the chandelier, or slid down the banister. "Games?" He swallowed even though his mouth was suddenly dry. "What sort of games?" He wondered at his own temerity in asking. And if Sarek would even say. Or if he was talking about the Vulcan version of Scrabble.

But Sarek seemed to find the question innocuous, and answered with Vulcan indifference. "Silly games, according to my wife. But she enjoys them, and they seem to be beneficial to her in …letting off steam, as you say. When the constraints of her behavior become too taxing. Chase. Catch. Tag, I believe it is called. Mock aggressive games. Of course, these are only games. I am always in full control, and exceptionally careful, when she is…caught."

Mark wouldn't have believed it, except that the words came from Sarek's own mouth. He dared to ask. "And at the conclusion of these games?"

Sarek looked him directly in the eye, wanting the interview over enough to be frank. "We make love."

Mark let out his held breath. "My god, Sarek, if you can do that, if you have enough control to **do** all that, why the hell have you been doing the rest of this all these years. Those lessons?"

'**They** are traditional."

"Well, shelve the part of tradition that requires your damn lessons, and play a few more of these …games. I think she could use them." Mark shook his head in amazement. "She never told me that."

Sarek flicked a brow. "She is reticent. Perhaps she believed them unimportant. I certainly considered them as no more than a ...teasing indulgence. They are only human play. Lessons are-" he caught himself, "**were**… to a purpose."

"Those games might just have saved your marriage. As much as your lessons. If not more so." Seeing Sarek's faint incredulity, he added. "Unlike them, that sort of thing is very healthy. Good for both of you. I have to give you a little more credit for that." Mark considered. "As for her, perhaps she was just protecting your Vulcan reputation. She's awfully good at that."

"Perhaps." Sarek regarded him evenly. "I have done my best to protect her as well."

"I know you have. It's not your fault you got it wrong in this case. These things can be very subtle, even human men don't entirely understand human women, certainly not all the time. And given how diverse human and Vulcan standards of behavior are, you're both bound to trip up. But at least you have the means to make it right. Sarek…play a lot of games. She can use them." He was quiet a moment. "And I guess she's not as entirely isolated as she was at first. I know a little more now. I can be some help."

"You already have."

Mark looked at him gratefully. "I was never your enemy, Sarek. Sometimes I've felt you regarded me as less than a desirable influence."

"Amanda has called you friend, to both of us. I consider her correct in that regard." He hesitated and added, in deference to the truth. "Now."

Abrams gave a wry grin. "Thanks. That means a lot to me. Well," he drew a breath. "I'm sure you want to get her home. I know she wants to go home. Just try to remember some of what I said. And count your lucky stars. You **are **awfully lucky, you know."

Sarek gave him an even look. "My marriage was hardly the result of luck, Doctor. It was logic."

Mark was flabbergasted at this, particularly after their recent discussion. "Logic?"

"Marriage is the only logical solution when two people…love."

Sarek brushed past the astonished physician, as if that final admission to a stranger threatened to undo him.

And Mark shook his head in wonder and looked around the prosaic cubicle, that had been the first public Vulcan admission of such.

But he was a doctor. And Sarek was a patient. Doctor/patient confidentiality. It wasn't really public. And he would never tell.

_To be continued…_


	62. Chapter 62

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 62**

And Sarek found he could not face the world yet. The ramifications of his discussion with the physician were crowding in on him. The unshielded human minds around him, his own injury, his …emotional state following Amanda's near death made him doubt his control and his ability to cope. He turned into the first open door, some administrator's office, empty at this late hour, and closed and locked the door behind him.

And sank into a chair to consider. What he had just heard. What he had just promised. And the folly he had been engaged in.

He closed his eyes at that. He had once sworn to Amanda, before she was his wife, that he would not require her to behave as a Vulcan. And somehow, that had fallen by the wayside.

And yet he remembered clearly what had made him so resolute in that regard. Who had made him so. That long ago day, T'Pau so adamant, so resolute that a human could not survive _Pon Far_. And Amanda had not been unwilling.

He held himself taut at that thought. No, of course his wife had not been unwilling. She had hesitated, hesitated long by his standards, on the threshold of that choice to marry, but once she had taken it, committed herself, she had been willing, more than willing to play a near Vulcan role in that marriage.

And he had tutored her in that role. With the best intentions, intended to **her** benefit. Even as she had tried to play that role to **his** benefit. A gift they had given to each other, mistaken in its ultimate consequences. They had indeed been caught in something of an O. Henry1 scenario.

And yet now that he had admitted the folly of that course of action, he was still left with the problem of his own biology, of his own requirements, even more of a concern to him, now that _vrie_ loomed over him. Over them. His mind wrestled anew with this unwelcome thought.

And then he was roused from his ponderings by the sound of his name, spoken on some public address system. He rose, shaking himself mentally. Amanda was somewhere in this hospital, and she would need him. This would have to be resolved later.

x x x

T'Pau swept directly into Amanda's hospital room without knocking or buzzing, cultural blindness and sheer lack of belief that even humans would not construct their rooms without suitable antechambers leading her imperiously forward.

A little awkward due to her sore ribs and cracked wrist, Amanda was being helped to dress by a Terran nurse. She yelped in surprise when she saw her august visitor, startling T'Pau, and doubly shocking the nurse.

"T- T'Pau," Amanda stuttered, and was torn between three actions, wanting to leap into her clothes, wanting to eschew even trying to dress and diving back into her robe, and the automatic habitual obeisance that T'Pau's august presence ritually demanded. "I – I'm-"

"Thee will address me properly, daughter," T'Pau said, and glared at the nurse, who was staring at her open-mouthed. "Leave us."

Even though T'Pau spoke in English, the nurse still stood there, literally amazed at being face to face with the reclusive, imperious matriarch of all Vulcan.

T'Pau turned to Amanda in frustration. "Who _is_ this human?"

Amanda got control of her tongue and the rest of her seemed to fall into line. "Thank you, Desiree. I can manage on my own for now." She pulled on her dress as the nurse let herself out, wincing a little as she strained her cracked ribs.

T'Pau frowned at this. "Why have thee not attendants assisting thee?"

Amanda drew up at the injustice of this. "You just sent the nurse out of the room."

T'Pau waved that aside as inconsequential. "I speak of proper attendants. She is not Vulcan."

Amanda tried to reach back to tie her hair and her ribs protested. She decided to leave it. Any Vulcans who saw it would have to be shocked. Or Sarek could tie it back himself when he came back.

"Neither am **I**, last I looked," she said dryly.

"Proper attendants, bound in service. Our conversations are not for outworlders."

Amanda supposed it was something that T'Pau no longer considered her such. "The last **proper** attendant you sent me tried to throw me off a building, remember? Can I recover from her before you send me another?"

T'Pau's face crumpled a little. "I must apologize for that, daughter. I would not have thee think that I intended that. I had suspicions she was disloyal, but had no conception that T'Lean intended violence."

Amanda stared at her. "I must be slow, because now I'm just putting two and two together. You **knew**?"

"Not when I first assigned her to your service. Then later…I was only warned she might be ill-disposed. I had no proof. And no expectation she intended physical harm. I left her with you only because I had thought to get proof of her disservice. I never intended to risk danger to thee, T'Amanda. I tried to ensure thee were protected."

Amanda's eyes widened. "**That's** why Sascek was following me around everywhere."

"It is his duty."

"Who warned you?" Amanda asked, her brows coming together.

"Thy son called me."

"**Spock** called you? Via subspace? Without telling me? Why that little-"

"He was most emphatic." T'Pau looked regretful. "I confess I did not entirely believe the child."

Amanda shook her head. "I've heard of telling tales out of school, but this takes the-" she eyed T'Pau and decided she didn't want to get into any conversations about desserts.

"T'Amanda, I greatly regret…"

_Oh that word Vulcans used when they were sorry and couldn't yield to the emotion_. And T'Pau looked awful. And no wonder. Amanda reflected that she'd nearly lost her son and his human wife in the same afternoon. "It is of no consequence," Amanda said, with the lofty air of a Vulcan. "No one could imagine a Vulcan would act so – or ascribe such negative views to one." She meant her oblique comment to exonerate T'Pau. She couldn't quite credit that T'Pau believed she might think that ill of her, not after all she'd done for her when Sarek was in _vrie_. But the old woman looked shattered.

But T'Pau wasn't matriarch for nothing. Assured of her daughter-in-law's continued good graces, she recovered quickly. "I am honored," T'Pau said, as grave as if her statement wasn't shocking, coming from the once vindictive matriarch to her pariah human daughter-in-law.

Amanda eyed her and then decided if one was going to be in T'Pau's good graces, one should at least get some advantage out of it. She confessed to the weaknesses of a human. "Mother, what I **really** want is just to go home. I don't know what happened to Sarek, but I was told he was around here somewhere. I think he went to the administrative section. I want him found and I want to get out of here. If he doesn't come back soon I'm getting out of here on my own. Can you please find him?"

T'Pau raised a satisfied brow. "That will be seen to at once."

_To be continued…_

1 _Henry, O, (aka Porter, William Sydney)_ "_Gift of the Magi_" The Four Million, 1906


	63. Chapter 63

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 63**

Sarek came up to his wife's room only to find T'Pau apparently in search of him. The Matriarch swept him with an evaluative glance, no doubt not missing a thing, and then said, "Where have thee been?"

"Meditating." Sarek stirred, and looked at his mother. "T'Lean?"

"She **is** dead," T'Pau confirmed.

Sarek shivered slightly. "Her husband must be notified."

"That has been attempted," T'Pau said, adding obliquely, "To no avail."

Sarek frowned. "How so?"

"He is dead also."

Sudden comprehension warmed in Sarek, and he looked away from T'Pau's too discerning eyes. His own near loss stirred an emotional reaction within him. "She was…grieving then. She was not fully responsible for her irrational, barbaric act." Sarek sighed briefly. "But Sudar was not young. And frail. It was inevitable. Still, to lose a bondmate can unsettle the strongest mind."

Even though T'Pau **had** suffered that ultimate loss, she was unmoved in turn. "Sarek, thee fail to understand. Sudar did not die of the fever." T'Pau met his eyes evenly as he looked to her, uncomprehendingly. "It was Tal-Shaya. T'Lean murdered him."

Sarek drew a sharp breath, and nearly staggered. It was a moment before he regained control.

"She was more treacherous than I ever conceived," T'Pau continued. "The healers melded fully with her, in her dying moments. She confessed to all. Murder, attempted murder. And she has been…tormenting Amanda…for some time." T'Pau drew a breath. "She even attempted her murder in my palace. But lacked the time to act."

Sarek was stunned. "And you put this creature with my wife?"

"I did not know. I had no belief she was a danger to T'Amanda, at that time. And as for now, I had not suspected she was so …irrational." She looked at him. "You did not **tell** me why T'Amanda was in distress. Perhaps if you had…I would have deduced a cause."

Sarek said nothing, still reeling from the horror of what he had just heard. Of **all** that he had heard in this unwelcome place. Of what T'Lean had done to Sudar. Of what she had done to Amanda. Of what **he** had done to Amanda.

"Sarek, thy wife requires thee," T'Pau said, belatedly passing on Amanda's message.

Sarek focused again on his mother. He had failed his wife in many ways, but T'Pau had an older history in that regard. And she had failed them both. "I have only been absent from her for a few minutes, in part from considering the repercussions of **your** many follies. Yet for many years my wife required **thee**, as a daughter, and thee were not there as Mother to her. Thee rejected her. And by default, her husband and child."

T'Pau drew back. She was shocked by so blunt and critical a comment from her usually circumspect son. After that long ago day when she had made her disapproval of his choice plain, he had seldom again tried to sway her - after that one scene when he had nearly begged her to accept Amanda.

Even after she had so deliberately and so devastatingly snubbed his wife, with the attendant social and familial consequences, he had seldom asked for her to reconsider. He had, in effect, shunned T'Pau in that regard, even as she had shunned him and his. T'Pau raised her eyes to meet her son's and said. "I acknowledge error."

Sarek drew up. Such a statement, from a Vulcan, was revealing and encompassing. It was a total concession on T'Pau's part. It left him, and by default, Amanda, open to requesting almost any form of recompense. By default he could strip her of everything but her title. But he was in no mood to entertain such conjectures.

"I have no interest in your belated acknowledgements. There are errors, T'Pau, for which **no** recompense is possible."

And he left her, without any of the forms that duty and propriety demanded.

And T'Pau drew a deep shuddering breath, and sank down in Sarek's place, shaken and appalled at where her follies had led her.

Amanda reflected there were some advantages to having a planetary ruler as a mother-in-law. Hospital paperwork had suddenly vanished like mist before Vulcan's sun. The hospital administrator came through her door moments after T'Pau had left and practically fell over himself promising to send her on her way and free Sarek from those clerks who'd kept him captive signing forms, as soon as she had tracked him down. Amanda suspected from that alone that much of what Sarek had been required to do had been bogus, to give someone an excuse to fawn over him and coo over his bruised hands. That suspicion proved too, for he was soon walking through the door of her hospital room, literally shaking off the claims of a very pretty young nurse who seemed to think he was an invalid. Or who perhaps wished he was.

And she didn't even care about that. Now that she had time to really consider T'Lean's startling confessions she realized what it meant for her. She really wasn't crazy. Had never been. All those worries fell from her as heavy weights from atop the parapet, even as T'Lean had fallen. Had nearly pulled her down, but not quite. She felt weightless, freed. She could fly.

And if she could do all that, she could certainly handle one slightly complicated life.

"Being a hero is hard work, is it? She asked wryly, as the nurse went away, her cheeks flaming in embarrassment at Amanda's knowing look.

"My wife?"

"Never mind," she said, shaking her head at his innocent confusion. As many years as she'd seen the phenomena, she still found Sarek's total devotion to her and disinterest in other women amazing. Even as she watched other pretty young things, spurred on, no doubt by the populist press, scandal sheets and romance rags, literally throw themselves at his feet. Something she could never claim to have done. Heaven knows she made him wait long enough to marry her. But it seemed both their waiting was over, and Sarek, in this instance, as eager to move on as she.

"Are you ready, my wife?"

"More than ready. I want to get out of here."

"I believe there is no need for further delay. Though I have signed more authorizations than necessary for a Federation Treaty. " He scooped her up.

"Sarek! Put me down! I can **walk**!"

"I think not, my wife." As usual, injured or not, carrying her didn't even impact his breathing, much less his stance. She might have been weightless.

'I'm perfectly fine," Amanda said.

"You are not," Sarek replied.

"Neither are you. That's quite bump." Amanda scrutinized the back of her husband's head from her bird's eye view, reflecting he had a bird's egg lump, Vulcan raptor size. "I can walk, honestly," she said dubiously, wondering what the Vulcan healers had to say about it. Vulcan healers took head injuries very seriously, since they impacted the individual's ability to heal themselves.

"Amanda, I think it best. There are…other concerns."

"What now?" She demanded as Sarek passed through the automatic doors. And blanched at what was waiting outside. "Oh, no, not again!"

He'd stepped into a barrage of press, dozens deep. The palace guard was holding them back, but questions flew thick and fast, and cameramen jostled to record every move. Amanda buried her face in her husband's neck, letting Sarek walk the gauntlet, his Vulcan calm unmoved.

He bundled her into a waiting aircar. While more of the guard held the press back, all shouting questions about the attempted murder, Sascek followed Sarek into the vehicle and sat across from them, his weapons at the ready, still as cheerful as if he found all this agreeably diverting, the most interesting time he'd had in years.

Even through the aircar fields, Amanda could hear a reporter from one of the more ribald scandal sheets shouting questions about Vulcan love triangles, and T'Lean's unrequited passion. Amanda winced, imagining the potential headlines. And then a new thought struck her.

"My god, what the Harlequins are going to make of this. We'll never live it down!"

"My wife?"

Amanda looked from Sarek's puzzled inquiry to the rabid press, fading through the windows as the aircar flew away. To Sascek, hulkingly huge as ever. And realized it was hopeless to fight it. In this case, she **was** living in a Vulcan Harlequin. "Oh, never mind." She turned to Sascek. "Looks like I'm still going to be saddled for **you **for a while," she remarked to him.

"Yes, my lady," Sascek agreed. And cheerfully rechecked his weaponry.

"I was right, Sarek," she said to her husband.

"No doubt," Sarek said, unperturbed. "Regarding what, my wife?"

"Life with you **is** never boring." She settled comfortably at his side and drew a deep sigh of contentment.

Sarek would not have considered it boring either, if he would even ascribe to a Vulcan experiencing such a condition. He had much to consider, and much from which to recover. Not just the physical injuries incurred in Amanda's rescue. Not even the emotional devastation of watching his wife nearly fall to her death, before him. Those were disturbing enough. He remembered clearly, with a Vulcan's eidetic memory, how he had often fussed at her for inconsequential injuries, scratches, sunburns, little things as Amanda would say. It was entirely understandable that this more recent near accident would require much discipline to entirely eradicate the emotional repercussions it engendered within him.

And even that, horrible as it had been, was not all. There was the unreal knowledge that T'Lean had meant to hurt, injure, even murder his wife. That T'Lean had …murdered…her own husband. The word itself was pre-Reform. He had known the woman virtually all his life, and never suspected her of such passions. She was of his line, as well. He had even been importuned at one time by T'Pau to consider taking T'Lean to wife.

And she had killed her husband. Oh, her bondmate had been an older man, leaning toward frailty. The image of violent Challenge, of fury that haunted Sarek when T'Pau had told him had never been the case. It probably had been no more than T'Lean's invoking of the ancient rite of Tal'Shaya. But it was still daunting. Horrifying.

Sarek found himself looking at his own wife snuggled in the crook of his arm, her hand in his. She had even more reasons, according to Mark, to hate and fear him. Yet he found nothing less than sheer contentment resonating in their emotional bond. And love. Amanda loved him. He could feel it across in the link between them. Emotion versus logic aside, he **knew** her love was a fact he would defend as staunchly as that of Eridani rising the next morn.

And yet the emotional reverberations within him had nothing to do with that knowledge. He feared for his own control. Not because of Amanda. Because his emotions were affected by Amanda's near death, by T'Lean's treachery. If he had not had the conversation with Mark, then when Amanda was well enough, he would have instituted lessons to address his shaky control.

And that was the third horror. What he had done to Amanda with the practice of those Vulcan disciplines, regardless of his good intentions. He could scarcely face the unwelcome knowledge. He indeed had much to retrieve in their relationship, outside of _vrie_. Outside even on _Pon Far_. Had not this, a deliberate practice, rather than a factor of biology, been worse?

Mark had claimed that their…games. Those silly teasing encounters were a form of a cure. That he should continue them. Even increase their frequency, for they were something of a rarity in their marriage, to aid Amanda in her recovery.

Yet it still left **him** with a …hole…a tear, in the fabric of their marriage. For if they did not have lessons, what was he to do? Amanda claimed to never have needed them. He had come to wonder if perhaps she was right. If six months of chattel status did not prove that she could handle _Pon Far_, he did not know what could.

But **he** still feared _Pon Far_. And how was he to control, to assuage those fears, to temper, to acknowledge and deal with the violence of the time?

He pondered, and brooded, turning over various prospects.

_To be continued…_


	64. Chapter 64

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 64**

If Amanda ever had any doubts about how her Vulcan staff regarded her, they were alleviated by the welcome she got when Sarek brought her home. The Guard were out in force, an inevitable result of the ravenous Federation Press now moving their base of operations to lay siege at the ancient Fortress. But the Guard craned their necks to see them as she and Sarek stepped out of their aircar, to see **her**, and even she could read concern in some of their looks.

The staff for the house and grounds were lining the courtyard as Sarek brought her through. And Sondt stepped up and put a sheaf of roses in her arms, assuring her they were from the cutting garden Sarek had set aside for the staff, that long ago morning when the lematya had gotten caught in the gardens. And that these roses were a joint gift from them all. The staff had thus given up some of their precious "provisions" for her, a valuable gift indeed by Vulcan standards, though for her with her acres of roses it was like bringing coals to Newcastle. But she thanked them with grave appreciation for the worth of it that it was to them, and for the treasured symbol that the gift represented.

T'Rueth had been cooking up a storm, everything she could think of to tempt her mistress and help her regain her health. Amanda thought of how she was going to manage that, with her stomach still queasy from Mark's potent drugs, but she thought it was little enough sacrifice on her part, given T'Rueth's obvious good will.

It really **wasn't** so bad, having someone else in her kitchen.

And T'Jar's eyes were actually swimming, so torn with guilt was she for passing on T'Lean's treacherous message to Sascek. The Vulcan girl tried to express her regret in words, and stumbled over them, stuttering like a child. Amanda took her hand briefly, letting touch express her sincerity, and told her she ascribed no blame to her. From the T'Jar's shining eyes, she could see she'd made herself quite an ally. A friend.

She realized she'd gained quite a lot of friends in the last few weeks. Or realized she'd had some she'd never known she had. The staff, who long ago had looked at her askance as a human interloper, now seemed to regard her very kindly indeed.

Of course, there would still be those, human or Vulcan that disliked her. Or that feared her as some symbol of human/Vulcan interaction, the encroachment of Human values on Vulcan standards. Or the reverse, by humans, as a traitor who allied with her husband and adopted planet against human interests in the Federation. But she was getting past some of that. On Vulcan, one friend at a time.

And, as to public opinion in the Federation, with the dubious help of the scandal mongering press.

_To be continued…_


	65. Chapter 65

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 65**

Amanda had forgotten one implication of the press attentions, or how fast scandalous news could travel. Not even hours after she was released from the hospital, she was supposed to be resting in her suite. At least, that was what Sarek had insisted upon.

And he was hovering nearby as if determined to see her do it.

With T'Lean gone, she no longer had Sascek following her around inside the fortress, and now she understood why he'd been there. Sarek could have trusted her with the knowledge, but she supposed between her own fragile state and his own Vulcan reticence, and his own unwillingness for it to be true, or to cast false aspersions, she shouldn't have been surprised he had not.

But if she lost a guard hovering over her, she'd gained a husband doing so. She didn't argue, or mind. He really ought to be at Council, but she was glad he was not. Though he claimed he was fine, she thought the bump on his head was nasty enough to deserve a day or two off. And they both could use some recovery time.

Because she didn't think it was logic that was keeping him home. It was guilt, or perhaps even Vulcans – especially Vulcans, or Vulcan bondmates, would found it hard to let go after such events. Bad as it had been for her, nearly falling off that parapet, it must have been nightmarish for a Vulcan male to see a bondmate in such a dangerous state. She could forgive him being a little broody.

But she also worried a little about that. Not knowing what had been the catalyst for _vrie_ before, she couldn't help but think that this might bring it back in spades. But Sarek showed no sign of any untoward temper. He was quiet, subdued. Perhaps a little unsettled, distressed. He spent hours meditating while she slept. As if he was having difficulty coming to terms with what had happened. But when she was awake, he was invariably gentle and kind, far from the dark mood she'd come to associate with _vrie_ She could only hope that if any of this was a catalyst of sorts for that condition, he knew enough of himself, now, to figure out how to get past it.

She turned over in bed. Her ribs and her wrist ached too much to let her get comfortable. But the drugs made her sick to her stomach.

Sarek looked up from where he was ostensibly working on Council matters. "You should rest, Amanda."

"I'm too keyed up to sleep." She sighed.

Sarek regarded her doubtfully. "Perhaps you would like a book?"

She drew a surprised breath. It was one thing for the restrictions of _vrie _to be gone, quite another for Sarek to be offering her the once forbidden fruit. But he seemed unaware of what he was doing. And it was time she got past some of her own concerns as well. "Yes."

"What would you like?"

'You surprise me."

He went into her study and brought back _Emma_, not surprising, seeing as how it was a professed favorite of hers. But one she was glad to see after a long absence. She settled down to the comfortable and prosaic concerns of the Woodhouses.

Sascek had come up to the suite. She heard him trading sentences with Sarek at the entrance. And then Sarek came into the bedroom, holding something in his arms. She sat up, curious. "What is that?"

He brought it over to the bed, and she drew back, astonished. It was the carved lematya head.

"It was just discovered. The restoration experts were asking if I wished them to repair it and put it back on the building. Or to have a new one constructed. Sarek ran a hand over the ancient carving, thousands of years old, a little battered in its fall, but still recognizably fierce. "I think I would rather keep this one here."

"It broke my ribs," she said accusingly, and then admitted. "But it also broke my fall. I might have…"

"Don't think of it," Sarek said quickly.

"Then why do you want it here?" She asked.

"Luck," Sarek said, standing back and regarding it critically. He spared her a glance. "I am reluctant to let it go too far from me."

She eyed him, not quite believing this was her husband, and wondering if he meant the head or an illogical belief in fortune. "I thought in this family we believed in logic, not luck? Sarek, how hard **did** you get hit on the head?"

"Logic played no part in your survival my wife. It was luck. And a lematya carving."

"And you. And Sascek, too."

"He also brought something else, Amanda," he laid a book in her hands.

"My diary!"

"It was found in T'Lean's effects."

Amanda shivered and drew back from it. "Throw it away, Sarek! I don't want to see it anymore."

"You no longer feel you need to see Mark?"

"I think without T'Lean's treacherous games, I will be just fine. I'll see Mark if something else comes up, but I think the worst is over." She watched while Sarek chuted the diary in the recycler and breathed a relieved sigh. "I'm so glad. Sarek this time it really **is** all over."

Sarek gave her a look. "But you will keep Sascek with you until further notice, Amanda. Until the press interest has faded." He went back to the lematya head, studying it enigmatically. "And perhaps for a time longer."

"But not in the house. Sascek I mean. If you want to keep the lematya carving," she gave it a look askance, but shrugged "I have no objection."

He adjusted the lematya carving on its shelf. And turned to look at her. "Not in the house."

"I suppose it has earned a place of honor," Amanda said, regarding the carving dubiously in its new home. "But I never thought of a lematya as a protector. Far rather the reverse."

"This one was."

"Perhaps." She thought of herself, face to face on the frieze with that stone visage, the long fall beneath her. Well perhaps it had brought her face to face with a number of long falls – and with chilling reality. She wouldn't **ever** dream of that escape again, however disassociated. In fact, she had quite a new appreciation for reality. She shivered, and eyed the lematya with new respect. "Perhaps."

She turned to go back gratefully to her reading, the utterly prosaic, and thus soothing domestic and social concerns of an eighteenth century Emma. And turning, her gaze fell on the dual frames on her bed table. For a long moment she studied them. Nudged them with a fingertip. Then she rose – not without a few twinges from her ribs, and picked them up, one in each hand. Running a finger over Sarek's sweet _reminder and a promise_. But found herself carrying them across the room, to place them side by side with the lematya carving. Beginning and ending of an era.

Sarek glanced up. "Do you like them better there?"

"I think so," she regarded the arrangement critically, and turned her gaze back to her bed table. "I don't need them by me any longer. And I'll need someplace to keep my book."

"Indeed," Sarek said, his attention more than half on his work. Utterly unaware of what she was saying. And what he was saying in not noticing what they both were saying.

"If you are not going to read, then you should rest, my wife," Sarek said, still absently. "You are still not well."

_But you are, she thought. Even with a bumped head, and brooding over whatever is troubling you._ _You really __**are**__ well again._ She sighed and went back to bed. And considered the shelf where the lematya glared, fangs bared, between the two frames. A strange guardian, to be sure. She didn't like lematya. She remembered only a few days ago, the lematya mother pacing outside the perimeter fences, fearful for her cub. And she sat up, suddenly, thinking of that. She didn't believe in omens, and cubs got into the gardens all the time. But still it could be an omen of sorts. That boy cub, who'd trespassed where Vulcan traditions said he should not. The fearsome mother, respecting the conventions and yet, fearful and protective. Perhaps it **was** an omen of sorts. If so a good one, for the cub had returned from its trespasses. With a little help. She eyed her husband speculatively, but even if he'd unbent enough to concede to luck, if **she** started talking about omens, she might end up back in Mark's office to have her head shrunk.

But as far as she was concerned, the lematya carving could stay. As long as she liked. Maybe Sarek was right and it **was** good luck.

She ran her hand happily against the smooth, **empty** surface of her bed table. And then she went back to her book.

She'd been ostensibly reading, but she'd really been falling asleep, almost ready for a nap when T'Jar came to tell her she had a priority call. From Starfleet.

Sarek had raised his head from his work at T'Jar's message, and he frowned slightly, his shoulders tensing at this news.

Amanda looked from the girl, who didn't know there was anything amiss or untoward in her message, to Sarek. Yet though Sarek had frowned, he had said nothing at this, his first encounter withi Spock calling her since he'd recovered from _vrie_.

"Thank you, T'Jar," she said and rose. "I really have to take this," she told Sarek. And brushed past him to her study.

Out of concern or anxiety, or continued broodiness, he followed her there too, hanging in the doorway as she accepted the call.

As if he couldn't quite bear to leave her yet, even for this.

_To be continued…_


	66. Chapter 66

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 66**

"Mother?" Spock's dark eyes were anxious as he scanned what he could see of her in the pickup. But his voice was controlled. "Are you well?"

"Yes. I am fine. **Really**, Spock."

He drew a sharp breath, barely appeased. "The news here is so … filtered." He said the last with the barest hint of frustration. "The Federation Press said that you had unspecified injuries. That you had been taken to the Terran Medical Center. That this was attempted **murder**."

"I was, but it was nothing too serious. Honestly. Just some bruises." She met Sarek's eyes in warning, half expecting him to counter her veracity, as he might have done in a conversation with their son before Spock left. But instead as her eyes met Sarek's, his widened slightly as if just realizing what he was doing. And then he faded away.

It said something for her veracity on this subject, at least in the eyes of her Vulcan husband and son, that based on his expression on the pickup even her own child didn't quite believe her. Had the same skeptical disapproving visage as his father. Eyed her evaluatingly as if to see where she was lying. She supposed she might be offended at that, but she was distracted by the thought of Sarek, wondering if she hadn't frowned at him if he would have stayed to hear all the message. And kicking herself for doing so. She might have effected a reunion right then. But perhaps she had enough to contend with, dealing with one agitated Vulcan at a time. And she could see Spock was barely controlling his emotions. Yet he was showing less of them than Sarek had, at the time. Of course, Sarek had been in it, real time.

"The reports said T'Lean…died," Spock continued.

"Yes."

"Good." His eyes flashed.

"Why, Spock," she was shocked out of her own composure. "That's not very charitable. And entirely against your Vulcan upbringing."

"I am Vulcan, even in this. I told you not all Vulcans control. And I was right. She meant you ill. She tried to **kill **you." Clearly as little as he had thought of T'Lean, he hadn't expected this.

"She must have been ill herself, to do such a thing," Amanda said soothingly.

"How **can** you excuse her behavior," he said, his eyes stormy with barely suppressed emotions. She realized how frightened he'd been. Still was.

"I don't. But she must have been very ill to have, and act on such thoughts. And I **am** all right. Really, I am." She said the last in the emphatic mode, and at that, he finally subsided. And then, as predictable as drought on Vulcan, he lowered his head, ashamed of his lapse of control. For a moment, he said nothing, then he met her eyes.

"I **told **you she was dangerous. Why did you not heed my advice?"

"I tried to. But things got…complicated."

"Complicated." He tasted the English word. "Yes. I suppose so." He gave her a troubled look. "She really…died?"

"Yes."

As furious as he'd been a moment before, now his eyes were shadowed, haunted. Wracked with guilt. She'd long known her son had a tender heart, for all his adherence to his father's logic. "Perhaps had I been home it might not have happened."

"And perhaps it might have. Children are **not** responsible for their elders, Spock. And you were hardly in charge of this household when you were here. You're certainly not responsible for T'Lean's behavior."

He still looked distressed. "I should have done something, said something, years ago. When I first knew."

"You were only a boy, too young to challenge her actions. You were fighting for your own acceptance. And I wasn't accepted at all. Whereas she was one of your grandmother's premier advisors – and she hadn't even **done** anything then. What could you have said, against that?"

His head was lowered. "This is true."

"And for all you've gotten a few years older, my son, you are **still** just a boy."

He looked up at her, stung and yet relieved by her characterization.

She softened her tone. "I was grateful for your warning. It did help. But all that is past, and what happened was **not **your doing or your fault. For now, leave adults' problems to the adults in question. You just try to take care of yourself. With a little help from your family, I hope."

"Mother…hearing the news, made me regret being so far from home. Very much regret it."

She looked at him. "I know. I love you too."

"Mother!"

"I'm sorry. That's what you were saying, isn't it?"

He shook his head, not in rejection, but impatience. She knew he wouldn't answer that. Her son, like his father until recently, had never told her he loved her. She'd always told herself it didn't matter. Though having Sarek finally say it made her realize how much she would like to hear it from her son. She shook herself out of that wish. That Sarek had said it was something of a miracle. She would not wish - or should even expect that from Spock, whose standards of behavior had always been so much higher.

Even if he never told her that he loved her, it should be enough that she could see he so clearly felt it. Even now, looking at her, so young, so severe, gazing at her across light-years.

"I am serious, Mother. I disliked being so far from home, when such events were happening. I thought I was …content, leaving Vulcan. I had even stopped thinking of it as …home. But then, when I heard the news—" He looked at her, stricken, helpless in the face of what had to be the strong emotions he was struggling to deal with. He could not speak of them, even to her.

Her heart broke for him. He probably had much of his father's passion, and perhaps not as much of Sarek's control. And he had been raised so strictly with the myth of Vulcan non-emotion he had never even been able to ask his father much about that dangerous subject. Her poor son was mostly on his own in getting help dealing with his emotions. "Do you still like your school?"

He blinked, non-plussed at this non-sequitor. "Yes."

"Are you doing well in it?"

"Yes," he allowed, guardedly.

"Do you want to give that up, and teach and do research at the VSA?"

For a moment, he stared at her, then shook his head. "Someday. Not now."

"And yet you want to come home?"

He lowered his head, nearly squirmed in discomfort - at least by Vulcan standards his faint movement could be characterized as that - neither confirming nor denying her assertion, shamed at his illogic but as obdurate as his father, in his own way.

She sighed, looking at his shining hair. So unlike his father's wiry curls. The pickup was very good, he looked …almost…close enough to touch. And with her own recent near miss, she longed to hold him, to have him with her, keep him with her. And that way lead disaster. Sarek would consider this near heresy if he found out, but she wasn't going to use the shattered nerves they all felt as a result of T'Lean's attempt at murder to bring her son home. Best to make that clear, to herself as well as her son. "Well, you can come home for the summer break, if you still want to. I'd love to see you. But you **can't** come home to stay."

"Mother!" He stared at her with wide shocked eyes.

"Not for **those** reasons. Until you can find me some better ones, you'll have to go back to school and finish what you started. Of course, if you can find me some good, logical reasons – even saying you don't like Starfleet is logical enough for me," she smiled mischievously, "you can come home tomorrow. But they have to be true reasons. I know you are a lousy liar – though very good at concealing the truth."

He just eyed her, relief and dismay warring within behind those dark eyes, his breathing still a little fast, too inhibited to say what he felt.

"Honey, **I'm** going back to teaching in a few days. So, what are you going to do here when everyone else is living their normal lives? You want to come home because you felt helpless and cut off when you heard the news. But that feeling won't last very long. And then you'll resent me for being the reason you came home."

"I won't."

She tilted her head and forbore to argue.

He lowered his eyes and confessed. "Perhaps. But it…feels…strong enough now."

"I'd like to think you felt a little something at the news of my attempted murder. But after that passes, you would be sorry you'd come home for such a reason. It's not enough to make you want to stay." She regarded him critically. "What you really need now is a hug."

He sighed, just a little, and looked at her. And then confessed. "I would not be averse."

"Well, think back to the last time I gave you one, and remember how that felt."

She had been only half serious, but Spock took her at her word. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he was quiet. Then his shoulders lifted and dropped in a sigh.

"Better?"

"Somewhat." He looked at her, and his mouth set, more controlled than a moment ago. "I will confess something to you, Mother. Sometimes, it is …difficult…to be far from …home." He said the last word almost reluctantly, as if regretting to admit he even still considered Vulcan so as much as he regretted the emotion. "And …sometimes, I miss you. Very much."

"I miss you too."

"Hearing the news…I wanted to come right home." This time she noticed he said it easily, as if only admitting it the first time was hard. "But there are no starships for a week. I had to …stay…at least for the moment." It was almost a plea.

She realized he had felt, at least a bit, that he had failed her.

"Spock, what happened was not even remotely your fault. I am fine. And you are going to stay for more than a moment. And so you called." She smiled. "Spock. You **called home**!"

He bridled, just a little, and drew himself up, Vulcan anew. "Yes."

"I **told** you that you could."

"Yes."

"Now you will keep on calling here. Though you can still call me at the Academy, if you need to."

He was quiet for a moment, then he said, as if making a great concession. "Very well."

"Sweetheart, if you are talking about **coming** home, you have to at least reconcile yourself to **calling** home."

"I suppose that is true." He lowered his gaze, still as shamed as a child. "Is…Sarek… well? He was not injured?"

She hesitated. "A bump on the head," she looked at her son, who eyes had gone wide at this, predictably reading understatement in all her assessments. "Perhaps it will knock some sense into him," she said uncharitably.

He gave her the same exasperated look her husband might have given her, and drew a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling.

"He will be fine. We'll both be fine. Don't worry." She decided to change the subject. "When will the term be over, Spock?"

"In six weeks. Six **Terran** weeks," he qualified. "Seven point six Vulcan weeks.

She smiled at this evidence of his acclimating. "And do you have plans for the summer break?"

He hesitated, looking at her, then nodded. "Several things. There is some research computer work I am scheduled to do."

"Where?"

He gave her a mulish look. "That is classified."

"You **are** just like your father. What else? You said several…" she reminded him.

He hesitated. "One of my teachers has many horses. I am helping train some of them. I ride. And I help care for them. They are not very different from sanjira. Just as you said."

"That's nice."

"It is good exercise. I have been doing that for some time."

"Anything else?"

He looked at her defiantly. "I do some work as a studio musician – for a recording company. Just occasionally."

"How did you come across that?"

"They were looking for a competent Vulcan lyrist and someone referred them to me. But as I can play several instruments, and sight read anything, I have been called in more and more."

"It sounds like you have a very full and diverse schedule."

He just looked at her. After a moment, she said, "Honey, I really am all right."

He lowered his eyes, and then he nodded, once. Her heart broke for him, realizing how much he did love her. He still was half wanting to come home, had been almost hoping she'd give him the excuse to do it. Perhaps it was wrong of her not to bring him home. Sarek would want it. But she couldn't think that it would be good for any of them. Not now, for that reason. Not in the long run.

But in the present, her son was clearly suffering. He still needed her, a fact that surprised her. But perhaps it shouldn't. Estranged from Sarek, and having only the most formal of relationships with his grandmother, she was most of the family he had right now. And all of the family he could express his emotions to. He was growing up fast, but he was still enough of a child that the thought of losing that sole contact must be terrifying to him.

She had begun to think, as chattel, that he had lost most of that, but now she could see that he needed her still. Even if just to help him with his own emotions. She'd been thinking he'd found friends to help him with that. She'd thought, during the long months of her confinement, that he had grown much further away from her. But perhaps not.

Perhaps Mark had been right, in some respects. She might have been disassociating there too. It had been her, growing away from him. If so, Sarek wasn't the only one who had some retrieving to do with their son's relationship. She drew a breath, determined to start that now. "Honey, when you miss me, call. Or send me a message. I like to hear from you, too, you know. It's a gift to me, when you do."

Spock just lowered his eyes. "It is wrong."

"For you to feel that? No. It's not." She looked at him measuringly. "Are you afraid, that if you do, more than the once a week you agreed to, you'll reinforce those emotions?"

Spock gave her a dark look, but said nothing.

"You won't," Amanda countered.

For a moment, he resisted it. But then, perhaps with the near loss of her so fresh, he said what perhaps under any other circumstance, at any other time, he would never have said "I never heard from you but once a week. Even if I messaged more often. That was all you agreed to. It was all I was allowed from you."

She closed her eyes in pain at this. "Darling, believe me. That was not my choice. And it **won't** happen again. I am not trying to hold you only to that. I want to hear from you – as often as you care to. And I will get back to you right away. I promise."

He looked up, sharply. "Was it Sarek?"

She didn't know what to say, and she saw his eyes flame into resentment, even anger. "Of course it was Sarek. I do not know why I even need to ask."

"Spock, please. **Please** don't be angry with your father. It wasn't **his** fault either."

He looked at her, torn between disbelief, resentment, anger, and now sadness. And hope, reluctant hope she was telling him the truth. That broke her heart more than anything.

"I do not wish to create contention between you and my – and Sarek."

"You don't." She lied through her teeth, uncaring. And was relieved to see her honest son almost believed her, looking up at her, willing, wishing to believe it was true. But then his eyes darkened again.

"Still, it is …wrong, of me. I should practice more control. I have gone away. Therefore I should no longer behave like a child."

"Listen to me, Spock." She said it in the emphatic mode, and he reluctantly raised his eyes. "You are growing up. You're will have other close associations in your life. And much as you love me – and don't say you don't, I know you do – they'll start to take precedence. At least in your day-to-day life. That's natural. But staying in touch with me isn't going to stop that from happening. In fact, I think it will make it easier to let go. So you don't need to worry about that."

"I am not worried," he countered, chary as always at the suggestion that he had emotions.

"All right. Just don't try to …cut yourself off, so abruptly. You've already done something of that in leaving home. Adapting to a new culture. You need some stability from your past life, to build on. And that doesn't just include your father's Vulcan disciplines, but **my** love as well. It's good to acknowledge both in your life."

He was studying her pensively. "I'll consider your words, Mother. I am…" he hesitated as if not sure what to say, "trying…to reconcile …both… in my life." He looked away for a moment. "It was something I did not feel capable of, on Vulcan."

"I think you're doing very well."

He looked at her, and it surprised her, how much her approval mattered to him. "Thank you."

"So you'll keep writing. As often as you need to."

He hesitated. Then agreed. "Yes."

"Good. I enjoy hearing from you. I do love you, my son."

He looked at her for a long moment, as if debating within himself. But then he did not say it.

"Goodbye, Mother."

And before she could even draw breath to say another word, he cut the connection.

She drew a breath at that abrupt leave-taking. But she knew at least in part, he'd done it because in a moment more, he **might** have betrayed himself. Or at least, who he'd been raised to be. By both her and Sarek. And she understood. Their last exchange had become too emotional. She'd raised her child to be Vulcan too. In many respects, she'd helped raise her son to Sarek's standards. Had been in many instances every bit as strict as Sarek. She'd denied herself, and him, much of the shared heritage to which they were both entitled.

Some of her long ago fears had come true. There had been no birthday parties, no Christmas trees, no tooth fairy, no Halloween. After a certain age there'd been no goodnight kisses, no hugs, and not even all that many heart to heart talks. He'd never once told her that he loved her. He'd chosen to be raised Vulcan, and he'd been determined to be so. And she had agreed to it, so they were both trapped in that. He'd told himself it was what he'd wanted. She'd told herself it was what he wanted.

But the truth was, the truth that had come out, after all these many years, was that he'd done what his parents had wanted. What does a five year old child know of life choices? Even as his parents struggled with theirs.

And Spock had lived his parents' choices long after he'd realized it wasn't working for him. Until he couldn't do it anymore. Even if Sarek yet couldn't, didn't understand, **she **took responsibility for that mistake. Spock had, after all, only been a very young child when he'd made that choice. She should have known better, that he was too young to make such a decision. That he'd been trying to please the father he'd worshiped. That with a child's imperfect understanding he'd done what he felt he must, to keep his family together.

Small wonder he rebelled at it, when he was grown enough that he felt he could live on his own, that he could break free. To breathe. To choose again. To choose, at least in part, something of his human heritage. And in a situation where he would be apart from the parental relationships where a failure to be Vulcan could have such serious consequences. Or if he was still too inhibited to choose humanity for himself, then at least, to choose it by **association**. After all, it was part of who he was. It was even what his father had done.

Perhaps it was even inevitable. Choices and their consequences were a part of life, part of how one defined oneself as an individual. No one could deny or avoid that without denying themselves. Or some essential truth about themselves. At least, not and stay…sane. She'd learned that lesson, in twenty years. Thank heavens her son was smart enough not to make the mistake his mother had. She might have spent twenty years in some mistaken and damaging pursuits, but Spock knew better.

He was still trying.

And he was building something of that shared history she'd long ago wanted for him, even if he did it far away from her, and alone. If things worked out for him, he wouldn't be alone for long. Even if he couldn't have that kind of relationship with her, even if he could never find it with T'Pring, he would find it with others. For as long as he could before he did have to return home, and take up his father's, his family's destiny. And who knows, perhaps by then, he could have that on Vulcan. She was carving something of a path for him in that, herself. And in his own way, so was Sarek.

She understood that.

Perhaps, Sarek would someday too. After all, her husband had chosen a human wife. You couldn't have a closer association than that. And he'd done his best for his son, in his own Vulcan way. Sarek knew that. Even Spock knew it.

And if he kept on the way he was going, someday Spock would be human enough to understand his father's emotional failings. He understood them in others. He just couldn't yet conceive that his perfect Vulcan father had them, even as he recognized Sarek's failings in IDIC. He never attributed emotional reasons to them. Well, he was still a boy, and that was rather a leap for her oh so Vulcanly raised son.

But she had great hopes for Spock.

And for Sarek. He'd acknowledged love for her. But he and Spock were close, so close, they could barely see each other for the blind spots their own culture engendered in them. Vulcans advocated non emotion . Sarek could not see the emotions Spock had as anything but a flaw to be corrected. Spock could not see Sarek's at all.

But they were all still learning, all of them. She had faith, and trust in her husband. A little rocky at times. But she'd always had…

_To be continued…_


	67. Chapter 67

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 67**

**Stardate 2229.12 Terra**

Thad Longworth, her department chair at Harvard, rose in elaborate irony as she entered his office. "Well, the prodigal returneth," he said testily. He was a wizened old man, with a prodigious intelligence that was only slightly moderated by a soft spot for his newest and youngest colleague.

"I know, this project has taken longer than I expected," Amanda apologized.

"Not only that."

"I'm sorry. And I'm afraid I have a request in that vein you're not going to like either. Thad, I'm wondering if I can cut back on some of my seminars?"

"I'm not too keen on that. There's been a flood of interest. We've been asked to expand the lecture series."

She shook her head. "I won't commit to that now."

"Amanda, we've already sold the lecture series. It's fully booked."

"And I'll do the first one. As for doing more, Jake could carry them on his own. It's really him they're coming to see."

"Not anymore. Amanda, it's only six nights. A series. We could easily book three or four more series."

"Thad, I can't. I'm going to need some time off, some flexibility of my schedule. At least for this semester."

He sat back, raising a brow. "So it's true?"

'What's true?" Amanda asked, mulish in turn.

"Amanda, I **did** get the word down from on high. I just wasn't sure whether to believe it."

Her eyes narrowed. "What on earth do you mean?"

"Not entirely on earth, I'd say." He said sarcastically, taking a folder from his desk. He held up a document emblazoned with the United Federation of Planets seal. "This says you've been essentially…commandeered, I guess would be the word. That at your request Harvard is to release you from all contractual obligations." His mouth narrowed. "All of them. I guess I should be glad you're agreeing to what you have contracted to do for us."

"Where did you get that?" Amanda said, reaching for it. "What is it?"

He looked down at it regretfully, eyeing the gilded seals. "It came to the University President's office. We've had our chief counsel look into the law for the last couple of weeks, but he assures us there's a codicil in UFP law that releases even private citizens from contractual obligations if their service is considered essential to the Federation. Apparently it was written in when they needed to draft engineers for that Mar's atmospheric failure, and it's never been-"

"What **are **you talking about? Let me see that." She reached for it.

"You tell me, Amanda. If you can," he added, handing it over.

She scanned the sheet of paper, her face paling. "Thad, believe me, I knew **nothing** about this. I don't even know where it came from."

"It came from the UFP Attorneys' General office - the chief counsel for the Federation. And it has that seal."

"It couldn't have." She looked up at him, trying for a smile. "It must be some sort of office joke. You've been had. Or maybe from the press…"

"Our attorneys have confirmed its validity. We checked with their office. It's no joke." He watched the half smile fade from her face, watched as she sobered, and swallowed hard. And returned to the document. "Mandy…do you know what you're getting into?"

She was reading through it again, distress plain on her face. "Obviously not."

"Do you have a lawyer?"

"A lawyer?" She raised astonished eyes. "Why would I need a lawyer?"

"You're the one being commandeered."

"But…but it says here this is at **my** request."

"That's what **our** papers say. The question is, what do **yours** say?"

"I don't have any. And I didn't request any of this. I have no idea what it means, or how it came about."

He looked grave. "Then I'd say you really **do** need a lawyer."

"I **don't**."

"I think you are being naïve. Amanda, surely you have to realize that in some respects, that you were unaware of this makes it almost worse. Why is this…" he indicated the paper, "even necessary? And why are you in the dark about it? Amanda, what are you **doing** over there at the Vulcan embassy?"

Her eyes were wide. "Just an ethology study."

He set his mouth, pushing back from his desk. "Obviously if it's classified, I can't know, but –"

"That's all I'm doing!"

"All?" He gave her a skeptical look. "That's not what the press says."

Her face flamed. And then she tossed her head defiantly. "_'Imagine to yourself everything most profligate and shocking in the way of dancing and sitting down together-'_"1

"Damn, it, Amanda, don't quote Jane Austen to me." "I didn't know you were such a literary buff." "And don't try to distract me. I've seen the press. Reputable and otherwise. I don't need to imagine anything. It's all splashed across the newsfeeds. You'd be amazed at how many of your fellow academics have taken to subscribing to the scandal sheets now that you've figured prominently in them. Every desk is draped with them." "Including yours?" she demanded. "This isn't a situation that calls for that kind of sarcasm. This is serious. Again, do you really know what you're doing?"

She turned away. And after a moment said, "Probably not. Definitely not."

"Then what the hell is **he** doing? Compromising your reputation, personal and professional, in this outrageous way?"

"He says," she drew a deep breath. She'd yet to tell anyone else. But Thad was a friend, and a colleague she respected. "He says he wants to marry me."

"Marry you?"

"Yes." She turned back.

"Is he out of his mind?"

She gave her long time friend a dark look. "Thanks a **lot**. I wasn't aware I was that bad a prospect."

"Are **you** out of your mind? To even joke about it? Amanda, he's Vulcan."

"I had noticed," she said loftily.

"And you're human."

"How perceptive of you."

"Don't be flip. You're not just human, Mandy, but you're _**human**_. From top to toes. You laugh; you love; you have a mischievous sense of humor-"

_So does he_, she thought sadly. But she couldn't say that. Maybe it was a mistake for her to tell Thad. But if she agreed to marry Sarek sooner or later people would have to be told. And telling Thad was a first step. Maybe it was a last step. She shivered a little at that. She was well aware she was running out of time. But if she changed her mind, Thad would be discreet. And she **had** to talk to someone. Someone. Before she made an irrevocable commitment.

"I happen to think of you as a friend - almost a daughter. And **he **is a Vulcan. Now how are you going to be happy, given Vulcans are allegedly devoted to a life of logic and non-emotion and **you** aren't some sterile, frigid automaton looking for a technical marriage? Don't you want someone devoted to **you**?"

She thought of Sarek, talking of Vulcan equivalents of devotion. But that wasn't a conversation she could share with Thad. Sarek had confided in her, but that didn't extend to her friends. She suddenly realized how little she could say of Sarek to him. To anyone. Virtually nothing that could make them understand her –their – position. It came to her, for the first time, how utterly alone in some respects she was going to be. Literally no one she could fully confide in – not and betray Sarek's Vulcan sensibilities, or reveal what to Vulcan conventionality was kept private. And he was a Federation ambassador. A whole world depended upon his reputation. And now her discretion. She couldn't risk anything that might hurt him. In Thad's office, overheated as it always was to warm his aged bones, she shivered violently. "I didn't say **I** was going to marry him."

"Well," Thad motioned to the legal documents, "It seems based on this that **he** has other ideas."

She raised her eyes from the documents to her colleague, almost her mentor. "You aren't accusing **him** of engineering this?"

"It would almost be worse if he hadn't, wouldn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"If he didn't, then who in the Federation council's office is throwing you to him? Amanda, how **did** you end up at the Vulcan embassy?"

"I told you when I first left."

"And whose idea was that?"

"I was told he wanted the study." She said slowly. But she thought of the fact that he had seemed so diffident to it. Especially compared to his intense interest in her. She shivered again.

"Amanda. If you do still have any kind of a choice in this, then it's time to start extracting yourself from the situation. Get **out** of there."

In Thad's prosaic office, where they'd discussed everything from ethology theories to 18th century fiction, anything ought to be possible. And her present situation must, should seem unreal. But instead she found herself saying, "I'm not sure I can."

"What do you mean?"

"I think…I think I might just …love him." She confessed it like a sin. Right now that's exactly how it felt.

"Love him? Amanda, be sensible."

She drew up at that. "On the one hand, you're telling me I shouldn't marry him because I'm **too** human, and now you're telling me I shouldn't consider my **emotions**?"

"What do you really know of him?"

She closed her eyes and admitted, "Not much."

"And that, only what he's telling you of him?"

"What else would I know?" she said, looking across to him. "It's not like I've had private detectives looking into his background on - Are you implying he's not trustworthy? Thad, he's Vulcan! They're known to be scrupulously honest."

"So the legends say. The ones **they** relate to **us**. Who can really be sure?"

"I don't believe **that** of him. Thad, I really think I **know** him."

"You couldn't possibly. He's not human. You have no basis for knowing him. No shared history. No shared values."

"The latter isn't true. Research alone indicates-"

"Amanda, this isn't a goddamned research project. This is your life!" He looked at her. "What did they do, what did they promise you, to make you even consider this? Not even a blank check from the UFP Alien Office to fully fund your research efforts for the rest of your life justifies you making yourself the subject of your own experiments."

She drew back, shocked and hurt. "How could you think that? That's not what this is."

"Worse then, a pawn, a bone, a treaty prize, thrown by the UFP to Vulcan."

"No!" she denied.

"No?" The aged eyes bored into her. "What is he doing with the research you're giving him?"

"Nothing. Really, Thad. He doesn't even seem …all that interested."

"Then has what he's been interested in is you, all along?"

She looked at him. "I don't know." She turned away. "Does it matter? Now?"

He straightened in his chair. "Does it matter?"

"Suppose he met me and then came to…care for me. Is that worse than-"

"Amanda, given he's Vulcan, let's look at this logically. One, either Vulcan is interested in your theories and research, and wants to annex you."

"Why wouldn't he just try to **hire** me then?" she asked.

"Who knows? Maybe he thought you might not be for sale in that respect."

"But that I am as a wife?"

"I don't know. Who knows what goes in their culture?"

Amanda flushed at that.

"Two, that what you think is true, that he asked for the study, got to know you and decided he wanted to marry you. All very romantic. Except that you say he never seemed too interested in your research."

When she didn't answer, he went on, "Or three, that for whatever reason, he or someone else put you in that embassy, on a trumped up reason, for **this** purpose."

"Why?"

"I wouldn't even attempt to speculate on a Vulcan's motives. You'll have to ask him that yourself. As for why someone **else** might, well, look at the result Amanda," he pointed to the paper. "You were making waves, big ones, in your field. Waves that were rocking some boats in Federation politics. And swamped others in academe. This gets you out of the way very conveniently, doesn't it? It would make a lot of people ill-disposed to you very happy."

"Does it? Maybe it puts me **more** in the way. Why would they even want me there?

"Except **you** want to cut back on your teaching, stop the lecture series, and stop who knows what else. You'd know that better than me. You're the one being …commandeered. But it doesn't seem to me as if **you're** calling the shots."

"This document says at **my** request."

"And those were the first words out of your mouth when you walked in here. Who put them in your head? Did someone in the Diplomatic liaison's office put you up to that?"

"No."

"Then it must have been Sarek."

She turned away. "Oh, Thad – I agree I'm out of my depth here. It's one thing to study cultures from the safety of distance, and another to be personally involved. I'm too close to this situation. I can't be objective. I honestly can't see my way out of it."

"If you want out of it, Amanda, tender your resignation into these Vulcans, and pray the UFP office doesn't enforce that." He pointed to the document.

"I can't."

"Amanda, until you know…**really** know what is going on, do the safe thing. Get out. You signed up to do a study. Not get personally involved."

"I'm that already. Thad, I think," she eyed him warily as she confessed it, "I think I might love him."

He blew out a disgusted breath. "I was afraid of that. Spare me from the young. You're a damn romantic, Amanda."

"I'm not," she denied.

"For heaven's sake, take a page from the Vulcans. Let's look at this logically. You think…you might – you don't sound very sure to me."

"How can I be sure of something like this? There's a lot to consider. As you say, he's not human."

"If you're not sure on this, Amanda, and you don't seem to be, then tell him no thanks, and get out of there. Remember what Emma2 said. If a woman doubts, she should always say no."

"That's no help," Amanda said, frustrated in turn. "Emma was nearly always **wrong**."

"You used to say she was your favorite Jane Austen character."

"She is. Maybe that's the point here."

"And maybe it's just fiction and it was a bad analogy on my part. Amanda, if you think you love him, saying no will hurt you. But, Amanda, you're a loving person. And you'll find a more appropriate love. Someone who will love you back. Isn't that what you really want? And you'll get over him quickly enough. All romance stories aside, no one dies of a broken heart. You might regret him for a bit, but when you've come to your senses, and you get married, to a real man, who can give you a home on Earth, children, and the career you've earned without, " he gestured to the paper, "Federation strings, then you will be happy. Really happy."

She was thinking of Sarek. Of the dreaded biology that laid claim to him, the healers deep concerns over his attachment to her. "I'm not so sure no one ever died of a broken heart."

"No unemotional Vulcan ever did, that's for sure," Thad said. "And you're a sensible girl, deep down. You'll cry for a week. Cry **hard**, the harder the better, you'll get over it faster. But then you **will** get over him."

"And if I don't? If I can't?"

"All the better to leave right now, before you get even more enmeshed in an impossible relationship. Cut your losses and **run**, Amanda."

She turned away a little. "I've been doing a different kind of running, Thad. Also from Jane Austen. 'Run mad as often as you choose.'"3

"'But do not faint.' That's the caveat you're forgetting."

She shrugged.

"As least you acknowledge this relationship has been a kind of madness. A silly indulgence. All right, you've had your fun. And for a while you've run a little mad with it. But don't let it trap you into an impossible situation. Don't ….faint. Not into a lifetime of commitment. Keep **that** much of your head."

"I'm not sure I can."

"Amanda. You must. You have to come to your senses about this. Or you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

She winced. "Don't, Thad. As you say, I have enough people telling me what to think and do."

"I'm thinking of you!"

"I know, and I appreciate it. Nothing you're telling me isn't something I haven't considered. But I can't just walk away. Believe me. I've tried."

"You've tried?" He looked deeply suspicious, even alarmed. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Not like you think. I've walked away. I just can't **stay** away. I told you, I think I love him."

"He'll never love you back, Amanda."

She flinched at the starkness of those words. "Don't **say** that, Thad."

"It's true. Amanda, he is Vulcan."

"I know, but – that's not what I feel. Maybe there are …equivalents."

"He will never love you back. And this is your life, not a damned research project. The hell with equivalents."

"I **have** to go back," she insisted. "I promised."

"You are already in too deep. It's time to get out. If not now, then when were you planning to? Every day that you stay in that situation means you'll find it harder to walk away. What if you do decide you really do love him? Then where will you be?"

"I think that's already true."

Thad set his jaw. "All right. Say you love him. So what? You'd still get over it. People fall in and **out **of love all the time."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Humans anyway. Vulcans apparently mate for life." She turned to Thad and half smiled. "Like swans."

"Amanda, you are not a Vulcan, nor are you a damned **swan**. And you can't actually be serious about marriage. You would be giving up everything, a normal life, children, a home, a family, the traditions we all hold dear – the mileposts of our lives."

"We can still have those."

"You won't have a shared history, you won't have anything similar in your background to build a home and family on. You will be two people forever separated by a far wider cultural gulf than any tie of marriage can bind."

"Maybe that will bring us closer together." Amanda sighed. "And when we have children-"

"Children? Amanda you're not even similar species. You couldn't possibly have children together."

"It could be possible," Amanda argued. "Sarek says-"

"That's nonsense. Amanda, listen to me. This whole life you're envisioning – it's nothing more than a romantic fantasy – one that could kill you."

She drew a breath. "I'm half afraid of that."

"Then **leave** him."

She was quiet a moment. "Thad, I appreciate your concern. I won't say it isn't justified, in some - many - respects. Especially seeing …that." She nodded at the paper. "I understand everything you're saying. I even agree with most of it. I **understand**. Believe me, I do. I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not. So then – "

She shook her head. "Listen to me. I do understand. My god, I understand **you** better than I understand **him**, most of the time. But none of that changes how I **feel**. None of it seems to matter, in my **heart**."

"You said you weren't sure. If you aren't, then don't make a commitment you'll almost surely regret."

She looked at him, his words echoing her most dreaded thoughts.

"You can close the door on all this Amanda. Do the simple thing. Come back to Cambridge. Give him up for a few months, a semester. If it is real love, not infatuation, it will stand the test. And he can wait. "

She shook her head. "I almost wish I could, Thad. But I can't. I just can't. At least not for now." She drew a deep breath. "And I don't think he can either. Wait, I mean. So…you'll cut back on my class schedule?"

He stared at her. "Amanda. Don't go. Please don't go. If you go back there…you won't come back. I just know it."

"Of course I'll be back," she said smoothly. Professionally. "To teach. For the lecture series. I'm not letting that," she nodded to the paper, "force me out of the commitments I've made."

"That's not what I mean."

She met his eyes calmly. "It's what I mean."

"Then promise me now, that you'll commit to the additional lectures. That you'll commit to a contract beyond the end of this term."

She shook her head. "I can't, Thad. Not now."

"Amanda. Don't go."

She looked down. "I have to. I just do. Will you make the changes I asked?"

He gestured to the documents across his desk, "According to this, I don't have any choice, do I?" His face softened. "But I will."

She rose and leaning across, kissed his cheek. "Thanks."

"Oh, Mandy," Thad looked after her. "And where you seem to be going, how often will you ever do even **that**?"

She just shook her head.

_To be continued…_

_Author's note: Thad is the one who gave Amanda the "wedding present", from Holo 2_

1 Austen, Jane, "_Letters to Cassandra"_, Saturday 9 –Sunday 10, January 1796

2 _Emma_, Jane Austen, 1814

3 Austen, Jane, _Love and Friendship_, 1922


	68. Chapter 68

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 68**

**Stardate 2250.4 Vulcan**

As much as Amanda loved Jane Austen's _Emma_, she was sick of her, sick of reading. Or perhaps that was extreme, but reading wasn't fun when she wasn't allowed to do anything **but **read. She'd been confined too long to be happy about staying home, regardless of the changed circumstance. Sarek, as always, was obdurate.

"You wouldn't like it," he assured her, not sparing her complaints much attention from his own work.

"I would. I **do**. Sarek, I want to go back to **work**. I'm only talking about teaching, not climbing mountains."

"Mark suggested you stay home the week, and stay home you shall."

She sat back, frustrated. "You two in league together are a nightmare. I think I liked it better when you were jealous and wanted nothing to do with him."

Sarek gave her a tolerant stare. "I was never jealous."

"Ha. I beg to differ. Call it what you like. The least you could do was not conspire with him against me."

Sarek put down his stylus. "Amanda, there are issues inherent in your returning to society at this time. It is better if you stay home. Your health requires it. And it would be difficult for the Guard to fully control the press. They have yet to report that they assess full competence in the prospect."

"Don't give me that," she argued. "That's a lame excuse. A few reporters. They dealt with them fine before. **I** dealt with them fine before."

Sarek gave her a bland look. "That was merely a human taking a High Council position. This is, according to the worst of the press, a… Vulcan love triangle. Amanda, there are **not **a few reporters out there. Even Federation Security services are in concurrence with the Guard. They also counsel, even urge delay."

Realization dawned on her. "A Vulcan love triangle…You don't mean…Oh. Oh, no!"

"Oh yes. I told you that you would not like it. What was outside the hospital before was only the normal, resident Federation Press. While you have been resting, the rest have been massing. More arriving with every starship. And far more than legitimate press. There is ten times their number now. It is worse than when we were married. The scandal sheets are not only back, they are encamped in force. And disseminating the most outrageous stories. Nor is this twenty years ago. There is a limit to how much even I can do now to expulse accredited Federation Press, however illegitimate I regard them."

"I think I am going to be sick," Amanda said.

"Precisely why your physician and the guard and the security forces and I believe you should stay home till you are well enough to deal with them."

"Deal with them?"

"They will want to hear from you," Sarek said with a raised brow. "Eventually you will have to make some statement to see the worst of them leave. But for now, you are injured. I would not have you further stressed dealing with scandalmongers. They have been told you are indisposed. If they insist on seeing you, they can simply wait. And you **will** stay home until you are well enough – until I deem you are well enough – to deal with such a crowd."

She sighed and trailed her way back to bed, daunted anew, realizing she'd have to think up scenarios to deal with them. Not her favorite pastime. "This is **so** unfair. I could have married a plumber. I could have married a recycling engineer. I could have married a lawyer! Anyone of which-"

Sarek regarded her blandly and interrupted this sad and plaintive litany. "Shall I bring you _Pollyanna_?"

She glared and threw a pillow at him. With devastating accuracy.

Sarek's brows rose to his bangs in surprise. And then he gave her a speculative look. And titched. "Such **aggression**, my wife. Of course humans are well known for the unbridled violence of their emotions. And their belligerent tendencies. And my **very** human wife is no exception." And he threw the pillow back.

The latter were their fighting words. The pillow added insult to injury. She had never had a pillow fight before with her Vulcan husband. It was illogical behavior for **either** of them to indulge in one.

Entirely illogical.

She picked up the pillow, narrowing her eyes.

She was hampered some by some desire not to hit his poor stubborn head, lest she actually knock some sense into it, or what little sense he had out. So she told him.

He was unfamiliar enough with the weapons and this particular form of warfare, and hampered by his own desire not to hurt her, that she managed to get in a few good whacks. Amazing how good **that** felt. Amazing the pillows didn't split. Until Sarek overpowered her, as he always did. Picked her up and let the offending pillow fly firmly against her bottom. And got in a few good whacks himself. Shocking her.

"Let me go!" she railed, kicking furiously, determined not to give up the game, give in, without a rollicking good fight.

Sarek held her easily, as always as if she weighed nothing at all, her struggles inconsequential, with that casual, thoughtless strength. She had never really thought about that, since he'd pulled her off the side of the building. How it, how he, had saved her. But she wasn't about to let on to fearful memories, or dwell on the past. Instead, she struggled fruitlessly. Cautious of her wrist, he didn't pin her hands, but having free use of them helped her not one whit. "Put me **down**. Now, Sarek!"

"I think not," Sarek said, looking down at her, consideringly. "Such disrespectful behavior as you have demonstrated requires correction. Conditioning. Shall we say, something of a …lesson. You may kick and scream if you wish, my wife. As we have previously discussed, it will avail you of nothing.

"You!" She was a little astonished he would suggest it. All this was so …antithetical to Vulcan conventions. He'd always been so wary, so controlling even in their lovemaking. Even these games they played to relieve tension had strict rules. By this time in their usual games, by the time it had gotten past teasing, into real physical confrontation, she was expected to go passive. He'd never encouraged her to continue her resistance too long. But perhaps they had something more of tension to relieve now. "You obnoxious **Vulcan**!"

Sarek looked down at her, and tilted his head, his amused, superior expression a direct challenge to her. "Just try it," he taunted teasing in turn. "Kick and scream."

Amused and disbelieving, partly outraged, she did both, struggling, kicking, protesting, demanding to be freed even as he carried her to bed, her cries, punctuated by her laughter, loud enough that she was briefly heard in the kitchens by the sharp-eared Vulcans there. T'Rueth raised an indulgent brow to Sascek before the noise of their wrestling match was cut off by Sarek detouring to shut the door to their bedroom. In spite of that, for good measure, Sascek closed the kitchen door.

T'Jar came innocently in from the great hall, eyes raised upward. "What was that?"

"A nightbird," T'Rueth suggested meeting Sascek's eyes. The girl was too young to realize even Vulcans have their moments of illogic and passion.

"Yes," Sascek agreed. "A nightbird."

"But it's not yet sunset," T'Jar protested.

"It is sunset somewhere, my girl," T'Rueth said, and sent her off to her chores.

And as he had predicted, her kicking and screaming made not one difference to Sarek's ability to carry her off. And with a little sense of shock, he realized his control was undiminished from the encounter. That indeed, it seemed to help desensitize his very Vulcan fears in this regard. There was a difference – a **great** difference - across the bond in having his wife struggle in laughter rather than tears. In pleasurable anticipation rather than the loss of fearful control. Pondering that, and having subdued his struggling wife as much from her own helpless laughter as his careful restraint, Sarek endeavored to put the offending pillows to better use.

It was a good lesson. A good catharsis. Amanda thought drowsily that she wouldn't mind seeing it taught again. Her husband, in some respects, was a better teacher than she.

And at least it killed another boring afternoon.

And even after his wife was sleeping, it gave Sarek much to consider. He lay beside her, eyes unfocused, meditating deeply on sex, on control, on passion and humor, on violence and on …pillow fights.

_To be continued…_


	69. Chapter 69

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 69**

Sarek had unprecedentedly stayed home yet another day from Council, which had surprised Amanda. He'd still insisted that she rest, but today proved untempted even by thrown pillows. She'd thought to resign herself to boredom, until she'd taken advantage of Sarek being momentarily away from his guard post to sneak downstairs to grab a cup of tea and some gossip with T'Rueth. She could have all the tea she wanted, served on a tray in her room. But invalid's tea didn't taste the same.

It was so unfair to be virtually locked up, however briefly and theoretically, because of T'Lean.

But Sarek wasn't momentarily away for no small reason, he was being seen by a healer in his office, who was laying down the law against Sarek going back to work with a concussion, for which, apparently, there were no Vulcan healing tricks. Apparently Vulcan science of mind couldn't be trusted when the mind itself was shaky from being shaken around.

She stood outside Sarek's office door, shamelessly eavesdropping while the healer scolded Sarek for wanting to go back to work just like her dear husband had recently been scolding her. Perhaps, if she were a better person, she would have felt guilt for such an ignoble act on her part. But she had to admit she was rather vicariously enjoying hearing Sarek getting what for, especially since she gathered he was not in any serious danger provided he heeded the healer's advice.

She was listening with real relish to the healer intone that as clan leader Sarek was expected to take reasonable precautions, and not to carelessly risk his heath when T'Jar came along and she had to pretend she was just momentarily waylaid while on her way to the kitchen. She only wished she had a recorder, so she could have played it all back for him at certain critical moments. Particularly the part about **carelessly** risking his health. She was going to relish that particular adverb. And save the whole speech for future use.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, having waived aside a horrified T'Rueth's offer of a tray, and was drinking tea, eating cookies (much better than hers) and hearing all the gossip – er, news.

The staff relayed that T'Pau had virtually taken to her own bed for a day after the accident, after they all had left the hospital, in a fine Victorian fainting spell (not really, but she'd cancelled her appointments and public appearances, essentially the same thing to Vulcan sensibilities). Plus expurgated stories about the fun Sascek was having dealing with the scandal mongering press. Some outworlder members of them, trying to take pictures of the Fortress parapets, had foolishly parked their flyers over the sheer cliffs among some denning lematyas. They'd had to be rescued by the guard. The guard had chosen to wait just long enough to give the lematya a little fun before stepping in with their stun guns. And if Vulcan efficiency faltered so that the stun rays strayed to cover the reporters as well as the lematya, well, in an emergency even Vulcan aim could suffer some lack of precision. And if the lematya had to wake up with a headache, the Vulcans believe the reporters, having invaded their territory, should suffer similar discomfort.

Amanda could only agree with that.

Then T'Jar left and came back to tell her of another priority call.

"Is it Spock?" Amanda asked, putting down her teacup wondering if her son was suddenly getting clingy in his old age.

"No, my lady. Someone named….Renair."

She flew to the comm.

"Amanda? The news is just **awful**. Are you really all right?"

"Reny, it's so good to hear from you. But I'm fine, fine. You know how the press is. The news is far less bad than they paint it to be."

Renair gave her a look of deep suspicion. "Would you tell me if you weren't?"

"Well, I have the odd bruise, but nothing I can't deal with. Oh, Reny, how I've **missed** you! The Academy isn't the same without you. Too many stodgy pontificating faculty. No one to really laugh with. With all these scandalmongering press here, I could really use you to make fun of the paparazzi."

"I've missed you too. But I've been worried about you."

Amanda's eyes widened. "But Reny, I told you that I'd be fine."

"Amanda, someone just tried to murder you! How fine can you be?"

"I meant apart from that." Amanda dismissed. "I've been very happy. **Really**."

"This is not the first time I have told you this," Reny said darkly, "but every word you say confirms to me that you are absolutely crazy."

"You may be right there," Amanda ruefully acknowledged, flushing a little. "At least Mark has his suspicions."

"So have I."

"But **I** don't, not anymore. And **you** mustn't worry," Amanda said comfortably. "Everything will be all right now."

"I saw T'Pau finally accepted you," Reny said, unconvinced. "Took her long enough. But I can't forget what happened to you **before** that. And even though I didn't really **know**, or believe what people were saying, still, every one whispered that-"

"That's all over with," Amanda said firmly. "I am very happy." Her eyes meet Renair's saying as plainly as she could she would not go into it over an insecure subspace link.

"I'm …glad for you," Reny said, subdued. "But I still don't think he's worth it. I wish – oh I wish you'd come back to Terra. You don't know what you're missing, Amanda. You've forgotten – I know because I forgot. In spring, when the leaves are so green and the skies so blue, and the flowers all bursting. It's so beautiful. Vulcan can't compare."

"Vulcan has its beauties too."

"It's not the same. If you would come back, even for a visit, you'd never leave again."

Amanda's breath caught. "Maybe someday I will come back to visit, but I'd go away again, Reny. I'd have to."

"He must be worth it. Though I can't see it myself." Renair's eyes were skeptical. "I was on Vulcan long enough to see beyond this fantasy Vulcan craze everyone seems to share."

Amanda's smile faded a little. "He is. **We** are, when we're together, and in our right minds. But until I do visit, you enjoy Terra for me, Reny." She sighed. "I do miss you. I don't suppose you'd be willing to come back to Vulcan, now and then, maybe for some guest lectures?

"Only for you would I do that. But not anytime soon. I'm…seeing someone."

"Really. That's new." Twenty years of living in a reticent society forbore her asking, but Amanda's eyes sparkled.

"May I remind you there is a whole **planet** full of human men here? Not like the sparse and slim human pickings on that sand dune you call home."

"Is it serious?"

"It …could be. I don't know. **That **is a difference from Vulcan, Amanda. One thing you're right about, humans **are** too adaptable. Not everyone is so **serious** all the time here. Particularly in relationships. It takes a while to get used to a more casual look at such things."

Amanda shivered, trying to imagine that herself. After years in a telepathic bond to a Vulcan with a periodically potentially fatal mating compulsion, the idea of a **casual** relationship was more alien than Sarek to her. She had a bit of trouble envisioning such. She had been away from Earth too long. "Can you get used to that? Your contract with the VSA was for… what…five years that you were away from home?"

"It takes some adjustments," Renair admitted. "I've told Harvard they should limit faculty exchange contracts to three. Humans **are** too adaptable. Five years is way too long to live in Vulcan society, even secondhand."

"Three is too short," Amanda said absently. "By the time you've adjusted physiologically to the Vulcan environment it would be time to leave. Reny…don't let him break your heart," Amanda said, suddenly worried. "Humans are not like Vulcans."

"You should talk."

"My heart has never been broken," Amanda denied. "I love my husband."

"I think those two statements are a contradiction in terms and speak for themselves. Marriage to a Vulcan **has** to be living with a broken heart. He can't love you back, Amanda."

Amanda drew up. Caught again, as she had from her first days with Sarek, even before they were married, in what she could and could **not** share with her human friends. They could never understand, nor understand her, because of it. She couldn't share Sarek's startling admission of love with Reny. She hadn't even shared it with Mark. She'd always be, in some respects, outside the gates. And in them. But at least there was a gate. That opened as well as closed. "There are…equivalent forms of devotion." A long ago promise of her husband's.

"So you've always said. I don't quite believe it. Not after-"

"Don't, Reny. Please. I can't dwell on that and I don't want you to. That's all past."

Renair shook her head and leaned into the pickup, pulling her curly black hair back from her face, studying Amanda with her deep black eyes. "You don't look fine to me. You look tired. You look thin. And your wrist has a reinforcement splint on it, like it was recently lasered. He broke **that** again, didn't he?"

"Don't be so judgmental. Reny, he pulled me up off the side of a building. I could have fallen. He saved my life."

"He always has a good excuse." Reny shook her head darkly. "I still don't like it."

"You don't like **him**."

"I don't think he's good enough for you." Reny said, sitting back, her arms folded.

"You think Sarek isn't good enough for me? Sarek? Out of all the Vulcans on the planet? You **know** who he is. Could it be, Reny, that your standards are perhaps, just a tad too high?"

"You're my friend."

"Well, I'm sure **his** friends would say the same about me," Amanda said. "If any would deign to discuss such personal matter. Certainly T'Pau felt that way." She thought T'Lean had. But T'Pau had changed her mind. And based on her reception at Council, so had many others.

"You know what I think of **her**." Reny countered.

Amanda smiled. "She's actually quite different than she appears, Reny. She and I have gotten…quite close."

Renair shivered violently in response to that. "Better you than me."

"Well that's why I'm here and you're there," Amanda said simply.

"I guess so."

Amanda smiled, a bit sadly. "Take care, Reny. Buy a scandal rag for me from time to time. And **burn** it."

Renair laughed, but there were tears in her eyes. "You take care. I still think you should get off that planet. No one is trying to **murder** me here. Apart from the usual human faculty knifework."

"Nor me, anymore." Amanda swallowed. "I'll make you a deal. Fall in love and I'll come to your wedding."

"You fall out of love and I'll meet you at the spaceport with a half dozen guys guaranteed to get you over your broken heart. As broken as it could be over a Vulcan."

"Bite your tongue," Amanda said. "No deal." She drew a deep breath. "But I will come to your wedding. Just find someone as good as my husband." She gave her a mischievous smile. "I'll even bring Sarek."

"Ha, ha." Renair's eyes filled with tears. "What an inducement to stay single. Amanda, I have to go. Subspace is prodigiously expensive for poor Harvard teachers."

"Reny?" Amanda remembered to say the words that still had the capacity to amaze her, even weeks out of her chattel status. "I'll call **you** next time."

"You'd better. Or I'll think the worst."

"Never," Amanda promised. "Never again." And she meant it as she cut the connection. But she still had sudden tears in her eyes for the choice she'd made. And the human life she'd left behind, the reminder brought back anew by a friend who'd returned to Earth.

But she had long ago found her love.

And falling in love had been hard enough. She wasn't about to fall out now.

_To be continued…_


	70. Chapter 70

**Holography**

**Volume 3**

**As a Reminder, and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 70**

**Stardate 2229.12 Terra**

She had walked through the doors of the Vulcan embassy in Geneva, thinking about how this place was almost beginning to be a home away from home. Nodded to the receptionist in the outer offices, and asked, "Is Sarek free?"

"He is in the upper gardens. You may go through."

She went, conscious of the fact that she had long ago ceased to need any type of appointment to see the highly sought after ambassador. Funny how things become common and familiar. She knew the way to the conservatory. It no longer seemed strange even to the Vulcan staff that she could get passed through to Sarek whenever he wasn't in a meeting, when even they might be waiting to see him.

And when she walked through the conservatory doors, and saw Sarek, standing at his usual meditation spot, staring out over the city, the notion that he was impassive was ridiculous. She thought he looked tired. She could see it in his shoulders. She didn't even need to see his face.

"You're going to catch your death out here," she warned. "It's cold."

Sarek turned, and there was welcome in his eyes, even though there was a trace of reserve in his manner. "Amanda. I am pleased that you have returned."

"Just had a few things to straighten out at school. I had to keep the lecture series, it's already fully booked. But I got out of the undergrad seminars. I just have the grad ones, and most of those I can do virtually. So I can stay here a little while longer."

"A **little **while longer," Sarek repeated, and his eyes met hers. "A little. Is that your intention?"

She flushed. "You said you weren't going to push."

"Yes." He looked at her, a trace of regret and disappointment in his eyes. "That is true."

"What is it? Something is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong, Amanda." Then he qualified it. "Actually, someone is …pushing me."

"Pushing you?" She couldn't have been more astonished. In her experience, no one pushed Sarek. Nor would he have tolerated it if they'd tried.

He looked at her as if trying to analyze her, dissect her, reduce her to essential components. "I have been told I am …possibly…becoming too attached to you."

"How can one become too attached to the person one intends to marry?"she asked, bemused at this perhaps Vulcan attitude.

He raised a brow. "One can if the other person chooses **not** to, while the first has become too deeply enmeshed in the expectation."

She flushed. "Sarek," she looked at him. "You said-"

"I know. But the healers have merely expressed concern that I may be unable to release you should you choose against our marriage."

"How could they know that?" She reached out to him, "Sarek?"

"No." he drew back. "You should not touch me, Amanda." Seeing the shock and pain in her eyes, he said, "It is for your own safety. The healers have expressed concern that we have already formed a partial bond." Seeing her taken aback, he said, "**you** need not feel distress. Even if it is so, and I believe I have been careful not to risk that, it is **not** irrevocable – for you. But it is something I have been counseled not to risk reinforcing. At least," he sighed, just a little, "I have agreed to consider the necessity."

She searched his eyes with hers. "You found this out today?"

"Yesterday."

She thought how they'd kissed goodbye, a few days ago. Perhaps it really had been a kiss goodbye. It could have well been their last kiss. "Oh, Sarek!"

"Amanda. You have stated you wish time. This is nothing more than that. Time – and space now – to choose."

"It **isn't** just that."

"Perhaps not. But I am willing to accede to it, at least for the present, to meet our agreement to give you time. It **is** what you said you needed."

She swallowed. "I know. Still, this is going to be …very hard for me." She looked at him, only inches away, but now too far distant to touch.

"It will be difficult for me as well," Sarek said, and then he shrugged. "But in that respect, it remains difficult only so long as you choose it to be. Where and how it ends is up to you."

"That's not fair," she said, stricken. "Don't put that on me. I'm not trying to be difficult. I gave up half a dozen classes just to be here with you."

"And I do appreciate that," he acknowledged, eyes out on the horizon, as if his control required a far distant reference point.

"Except now, after months of treating me otherwise, you tell me you can't even touch me?"

He turned, his brows knitted together. "Amanda, I do not know how to make this more fair for you. I am a touch telepath. My species forms a mental bond via touch, and that bond is nearly irrevocable. If you want to avoid committing to such a bond, we should no longer engage in the intimate touches we have indulged in up to now. Perhaps I was …remiss…to have allowed it up to this point. I thought…" He shrugged. "I thought I could control enough that it was not an issue. Perhaps I thought the situation would be resolved before it could **become** an issue. Nevertheless, I might have been in error. I do not know, and am still considering their concern. This is an unprecedented situation."

"Marrying a human unprecedented…that's an understatement."

Sarek looked somewhat taken aback. "No. That is true, but I meant the extended length of time necessary for this choice."

"You're saying a Vulcan woman would have made up her mind immediately? On such a life decision?"

Sarek glanced at her, shrugged, and answered simply. "In my case, yes."

"And she'd have answered yes, too," Amanda challenged, exasperated at his attitude.

Sarek looked at her again, undrawn. "She would have."

Amanda was frustrated. "My god, spare me. Is this just ego, or are you really **that** much of a catch?"

Sarek shook his head, half amused. "I am afraid perhaps yes to both. Amanda, I cannot alter the actions of others made on my behalf. I am merely trying to do my best to fulfill the promise I made to **you**. Not to rush you."

"I want to hear it from these healers myself, directly," she said, and stormed out of the room.

She tracked down Senet, the healer attached to the Vulcan embassy. She didn't think twice that she was admitted immediately to his office, as she was to all the Vulcans on Sarek's staff. He rose as she entered, and inclined his head respectfully. "How may I serve?"

"Sarek told me-" She paused in her headlong rush, suddenly embarrassed. But then steeled her shoulders and went on, resolute. "That you said he should no longer touch me."

He raised a brow. "You are not bonded. Such behavior in entirely inappropriate."

"Such behavior, as you put it, is part of **my** species courtship rituals."

"So I am given to understand. But there are consequences to such behavior for Vulcans. Consequences you seem unwilling to accept."

She bridled at that. "I haven't said I'm unwilling to take the consequences. I am trying to make a reasoned choice."

"Logical. But until you do, you cannot have both."

She bristled at that. "Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot have? Or to restrict Sarek, for that matter?"

"Sarek understands. For him to engage in such behavior risks that he will not be able to release you from bonding, should you choose otherwise. Indeed, I fear he may already be past that point. I have become deeply concerned on that score." He tilted his head, measuring her with a glance. "To that end, we have already taken other appropriate measures."

She drew up at that. "What measures?"

"Sarek can no longer be allowed to fixate solely on an inconstant human, on a bondmate who may very well refuse him. A more suitable bondmate has been dispatched from Vulcan to Terra by a courier ship. She will be here in 11.2 days." The healer raised a brow. "You have that period to make your decision. At that time, Sarek will be bonded to her – unless you choose otherwise."

She stood there, stunned. "Another bondmate…Does she even love him? Does he even care for her?"

The healer's brows rose in astonishment. "That is quite irrelevant in this situation. She is suitable."

"And I'm not."

The healer refused to be drawn. "That is not for me to judge."

"How can you expect that of him?"

"The Matriarch of Vulcan, and the High Council have so decreed. It is to save Sarek's life."

"To save his life! But he's not…" Amanda looked up, as if she could see Sarek through ceilings and floors.

"No. He is far from the _Time_. But if he does not bond to another, soon, the concern is very real that he will be unable to, that he will be irrevocably drawn to a bondmate who will not have him. Or who has refused him." Senet looked at her impassively. "This is for his welfare. And it is also for yours. You are only human. Sarek's attentions aside, it is entirely proper of you to hesitate at making such an unwise choice."

She bridled at that. "But Sarek does not want to bond to another."

"He also does not want to draw you into a bonding against your will. He will do what he must to prevent that."

Amanda drew her brows together in an uncharacteristic scowl. "This is blackmail."

"I do not understand," the healer said precisely. "If you do not wish to bond with him, how can it concern you that he bonds with another?"

Amanda had no answer to that. She was stunned at this new turn of events. She left the office, so enmeshed in her own torn emotions she didn't even notice Sarek until she nearly collided with him, coming in search of her.

"Amanda," Sarek caught her and drew her into a nearby office.

"**When** were you planning to tell me?"

For a moment Sarek looked vexed. "They informed you…"

"That you're about to be married off against your will? Yes."

"Hardy that," Sarek said, sitting down next to her. "It is not my doing, Amanda. I had no part in the preparations."

"Senet seems to feel it's going to happen."

Sarek said nothing for a moment, eyes narrowed. As if he were vexed, or holding back some other strong emotion.

"Sarek?"

Sarek glanced down at her. She had the impression he'd almost forgotten her presence. He studied her, a bit regretfully. "I have been strongly advised by those I must respect, to consider at least the prospect.

"You mean you…you might just do it?" Amanda was astonished.

He looked down at her. "I did not say that. Senet is correct in some respects. I am quite committed to you. I want no other. However I have been urged to …consider it. So consider it, I must."

She felt stunned by this new betrayal. "You're the one who told me Vulcans only **consider** one potential relationship at a time," she accused him. "Didn't you?"

"True. But I have been told I am perhaps too committed. I had thought I had time. And the control to allow you all the time you wished to make a choice. I confess I had not understood it might take you as **much** time as it has." His dark eyes met her. "But I have promised not to push you."

"You keep **saying** that. We've only known each other a couple of months. Barely seven weeks."

"Yes."

"You're taking months just to hammer out a **treaty**."

"Yes."

"How can this be long?"

He tilted his chin in a Vulcan shrug, looking down at her. "Such an evaluation is relative."

She thought over his behavior, from their first meeting. "You can't want this."

He raised a brow. "I have repeatedly stated what **I** want, Amanda.

"And yet still, you'd marry someone else, someone you didn't love?"

"Love is irrelevant for Vulcans, Amanda," he said, brushing aside that consideration. "I've been counseled to do so by those whose council I must-"

"**No**." His first words about love had flayed her; she could not bear to listen to any more. She turned away from him.

"**Amanda**!"

He started to reach for her, and then remembering the injunction against touch, did not try to hold her back. So it was easy, only **too** easy, for her to leave the room. Leave him behind.

_To be continued…_


	71. Chapter 71

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 71**

**Star Date 2250.4 Vulcan**

Coming back from her call with Reny, the healers had gone, and Sarek was not in his office. She wondered if he'd actually decided to take their advice for once and rest. And went up to their bedroom, determined to give him what for if she found him working up there, about the illogic of working against his doctor's orders.

No surprise, she found him as she expected. She drew a breath to give him a taste of his own medicine, and her sharp tongue, and then let the breath out, her heart torn. His brow was furrowed with concentration over some new Federation crisis, and he looked, to her discerning eyes, baffled and a little vexed. As she watched, one hand went up to absently rub the sore spot at the back of his head, as if it and the work, had given him a headache. At that, all thoughts of giving him what for vanished. She'd give him all she had instead.

She came up behind him, letting him hear her before she daringly put her hands on his shoulders. She hated disturbing him when he was working. But if he should **not** be working, wasn't that fair game?

He took one of her hands in his, and turned. "You have been playing hooky, my wife."

"You play hooky from work, Sarek, not from rest."

"I beg to differ, if the term means, as it seems to, that one is avoiding a necessary duty. Rest being yours at present, you are playing hooky."

"So are you."

His eyes widened a little at that boldness. So few people had the authority or the right to tell him what to do, on his world, and in such limited circumstances, that he was unused to the phenomena. He regarded her calmly. "I suppose you are correct in that assertion."

"So how about resting with me? Really resting, my husband. Not making love."

He glanced back at his work, and sighed almost imperceptibly. "Tempting, my wife. But I am behind in this."

"An hour's nap? Come on, you've been nagging at me enough. It's only fair trade. And I heard something of what the healers said when I went down to the kitchen to get some tea."

"T'Jar would have brought it to you." He glanced at her. "Or I would have."

"I wanted some company."

A raised brow, a trace of amusement at this tacit slight. "Indeed."

"Not to imply that I don't prefer yours. But I wanted some **other** company. Society can be addicting, my husband. And I wanted some kitchen gossip, too." She looked at him. "I hope that doesn't bother you."

"Not at all." She saw he breathed out almost a sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping a fraction. "I am pleased indeed if this means that you are at last at peace with the fact of attendants and servants. Particularly given the recent…debacle. And also relieved that you are seeking society."

She flushed a little, well aware that she had been somewhat hiding behind him from it since she'd been released.

"Particularly that you are seeking **their** society, given that before you had made it so very clear you had had more than enough of their services, from your first days on Vulcan to the present. I used to concern myself with how to keep attendants **from** intruding on your presence. Finding that you are actually seeking them out relieves me on that score."

"I've gotten over that," Amanda admitted. "I just realized that myself. I **like** T'Rueth and T'Jar. I even have gotten fond of Sascek. And I think they like me, too."

Sarek raised a brow. "I will not reply to such an unVulcan assessment, other than to say that I am pleased and relieved that you find it to be so."

"So **I** had some good reasons for playing hooky from resting," she said, folding her arms and looking at him. "What's yours?"

Sarek sighed, work reclaiming his attention. "Another challenge related to system versus Federation autonomy. I have been trying to determine a satisfactory compromise, but I believe their positions are too disparate and too unvarying to settle without meeting face to face."

"We're heading for a general session?" There was no mistaking the trace of dismay in her tone.

"Unless I or others can find a solution." He eyed her. "You do not wish it?"

She reconciled herself to being dragged across the Federation yet again. "It will be all right," she grudgingly allowed.

"There is talk it may well be on Terra, this time. Such locations as you know are taken in turn. It is being considered their 'turn' again."

"You don't like Terra."

"I have never said such."

"You don't need to say it. I can tell."

But Sarek was persistent. "Perhaps you would like to see Terra again?"

She looked at Sarek. Thought of what Reny had said, of blue skies under a yellow sun, bright green vegetation everywhere, huge forests and wild seas, rain and snow… And humans everywhere. And shook her head. "If we must, we must. But no. I'm not longing to see Terra again. Not right now."

He regarded her for half a beat, not unaware of her unease. "Amanda. Are you …afraid you would not want to come back?"

Her eyes widened in astonishment. "Goodness, no! Far rather the reverse. I just want to stay home."

"To stay home," Sarek repeated, as if dumbfounded.

"This is my home." She looked at him. "Isn't that what you wanted, all this time? I'd think you'd be happy that I'd feel that way."

"I am not displeased. But, Amanda, you've been confined at home, as you say, for six months. Surely you would welcome the prospect of leaving it, especially for Terra."

"It's not just my home, but my community. My life. And I **have** just found it again, after six months. And in some respects, found it after twenty years. So, no, I'm not in any great hurry to leave just now. And given that I've confirmed neither one of us is in any great rush to head off for Terra's questionable delights - and I hope you find that compromise to prevent the necessity - you can still take an hour's nap, my husband."

He looked at her, then let her take his hand and lead him to bed.

As always, he shucked his pants and tunic, and she undid her shift. Sarek still couldn't countenance sleeping in clothes, even for a nap, even as she would find it nonsensical to bathe in clothing. Not that she minded that per se, she'd gotten used to sleeping in her skin. And on Vulcan it was hot enough, particularly during the day, that the idea of sleeping in clothes was just silly. But it did tempt one into doing more than sleeping.

She laid her head on his chest, and thought firmly of naps. But Sarek wasn't relaxing and when she looked up, she saw his eyes were slightly open and unfocused, still worrying whatever problem he'd been immersed in.

"Sarek," she said, leaning up on one elbow and looking across at him, warning in her tone.

He returned to her. "I cannot fool you, I see."

She drew herself back down, snuggling against him. "Do you want to?"

"No." He drew her into his arms, relaxed into his usual sleeping posture, and closed his eyes, sighing in a way that was rare for him. "Never."

And this time she didn't remind him he'd had done with _never_. This time she agreed.

Reny could have Terra. She would take Vulcan. Without a doubt.

_To be continued…_


	72. Chapter 72

**Holography 3 **

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 72**

**Stardate 2229.12 Terra**

Amanda discovered she could leave the room but her resolve didn't extend to leaving the embassy. Doubts and fears plagued her. To leave. To stay. To run away, far away from all horrid and irreversible decisions. How many times had she stormed away before? But not this time. This time was different. She had gone back to her room, determined to pack. And couldn't. If she walked out this time, it could well be forever. Would be forever. How could she ever return, after such a break? How could he ask her to? So she stayed, but spent a sleepless night. Sarek had sent her several priority messages, but she couldn't trust herself to speak to him. She was too…upset. Too torn. She felt hurt, even betrayed.

_So much for considering only one suit at a time._

She tossed and turned. Until she gave up trying to sleep and paced like a caged animal.

The next morning her head was aching, and she felt as stiff and sore as if she'd been beaten. She could face breakfast no more than she could face dinner, and she went instead to the rooftop gardens. She knew what she had to do. Pack and leave. Nothing she hadn't done before. But this time, it would be forever. And… she just couldn't make herself do it.

She walked along a bed of early snowdrops, fingers brushing the tips of the flowers, staring unseeing at the lake in the distance. Trying to force her mind into resolve. Into a choice.

And the choice was impossible. Either choice. She closed her eyes. She had come to love him. And that was the problem. On the one hand, she could have Sarek. But that meant eventually giving up everything else. Her home. Her life. Her life as she knew it, certainly. To go far away, and live who knew how? She barely knew Sarek. It seemed every day brought a new surprise, a new condition, a new issue. If nothing else, this latest event had taught her how dangerous it was for her to commit to something – to someone – where she didn't understand all the ramifications.

So she should leave. Just give him up. And then she could have everything else. And Thad was right. She was a loving person. She would find someone else to love. A human, who'd give her human children. Birthdays, holidays, all the shared icons that people, that humans, build their lives around. Except it wouldn't be with Sarek. Which seemed to make every nerve in her body rise up in protest. She didn't know – or care really - whether it was the result of a bond, or love, or whatever. He'd become important to her. Not essential, not a part of her. She wasn't Vulcan, she'd live without him. But it would hurt. The thought of facing that hurt, of never seeing him again was tearing her apart.

_I want both. Why can't I have both?_ It was why she was still perched on the fence, between the two realities. She'd enjoyed the …courtship. She'd enjoyed him, as he claimed to enjoy her. But courtship and marriage were two very different things.

And she now had a time limit, of all things.

If she loved him, didn't her own culture, her own emotions, her own reality, say she should marry him? It **was **the suitable ending to the fairy tale.

But that was impossible. Where she would be going, there would be no fairy tales. Just logic, non-emotion. Control. Except for Sarek, the one apparent relationship for a Vulcan where passion was countenanced.

Except he was the one who'd just told her love was irrelevant for him.

And even for her, who could depend only upon one person for love, for emotion, for community? Even if she was willing to accept …the Vulcan equivalent…where she would be going, she'd be isolated, with relatively few of her own people. Alone on an alien world. Could she really live, with only one source for love, for connection, in her life? And him a Vulcan, logical in all other respects? It would be a very emotionally isolated existence.

Oh, perhaps they could work something out, spend time on Terra, as well as Vulcan, but that wouldn't be her real life. Her home, her community, would be on Vulcan. Did she really trust him…that much? And after what had just occurred?

And that wasn't even at was at the heart of her concern. It was what Thad had said. Shared history. Marry Sarek, and even within that love, if he did love her, in spite of his words to the contrary, she would give up so much. Children of her own species for one thing. And all that went with them. A human husband would not only love her but be able to **admit** that he loved her. Surely she deserved that much. And however she had come to love Sarek, he didn't. Claimed he couldn't or wouldn't, but the important point was that if it was irrelevant to him, it was not to her.

Part of her did love him. Loved him fiercely. Yet even still, part longed for someone who understood where she was coming from, for whom she didn't constantly have to translate herself, her emotions, her world. She wanted all those mileposts of one's life – the birthdays and Christmases and anniversaries, Halloween and the tooth fairy, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny - all the silly, stupid human things that didn't bear translating – and perhaps wouldn't bear trans**plant**ing to an alien world - but that were part and parcel of her culture.

Even now she and Sarek sometimes grew weary of constantly translating themselves to each other. When one of the other of them said something incomprehensible, outside their understanding, sometimes that person would take a breath to begin to explain - and then just leave whatever it was as it was. It was **work**, constantly translating oneself. Could she bear a lifetime of that? And it would be for life. There would not be, as in _The Philadelphia Story_, some nice judge giving her a full pardon. This would be for life.

If she married him, she'd also be giving up choice afterwards – at least in that respect. Free choice was practically a human mandate. To love, to not love, to leave, to stay. Not some irrevocable, incomprehensible unbreakable marriage bond to …if she faced it honestly …to a stranger, an alien, a person she had never even met eight weeks ago. She was not a swan. She was human, and female. Having the freedom of choice to change her mind was practically a human female's cultural mandate. How could she even conceive of giving that up?

She blew out a frustrated breath. Why was she even agonizing over this? Thad was right. When she looked at her situation from his eyes, when she divorced herself from her unreasoning love, it made sense – good logical sense… to leave. Why in the world would she want to give up so much, to marry a man who couldn't even claim to love her? And who was apparently prepared to marry someone else in a few days time if she refused. She had been foolish to consider it.

She steeled herself for the necessity. She could be packed and gone by noon. Thad, at least, would be happy. And he was even right. She'd cry for more than a few days, but she would find someone else to love. Someone human. And someday, she'd even laugh at the idea that she'd every considered such a ridiculous marriage. The madness of youth.

She brushed furiously at the tears dropping from her lashes. Well, perhaps she wouldn't laugh. That was a bit much for even **her** to expect.

But the healers would be happy. Whoever had sent her replacement would be happy.

And Sarek?

He would not be happy. She knew him well enough that she didn't even try to convince herself of that. But he'd resign himself to it. And he had all his logical disciplines to help him accept it.

Maybe all this was never been meant to be.

But who could make her forget the man, no, he wasn't a man, the Vulcan she had come to love? Wouldn't she regret her forgone choice the rest of her life? Her first real love. She'd never forget him, and never live without that regret. She closed her eyes against that pain.

And she heard a noise behind her and turned and saw Sarek, just coming into the gardens.

He drew up, eyes wide, his manner alone proving he'd been so distracted upon entering the garden he had not seen or heard her. "Amanda. Forgive me. I didn't know you were meditating here."

"They're your gardens."

"I yield them to your use." He drew back

"No. Please. I was just leaving anyway." She winced at the true intent of her words. Maybe this was for a reason. Maybe it was here she had to say goodbye. But it was hard to do that, seeing him. When she was away from him it was easier to tell herself that he was Vulcan, alien, that marriage to him was ridiculous. When she was with him, he was just Sarek. Familiar, now. Known. She could read every minute expression he had. And she did love him. Right now, all she wanted was him. "Sarek-"

But he forestalled her, his eyes sweeping her face and dark with concern at what they found. "You look as if you have not slept, Amanda."

"I haven't."

'You should rest. You do not look well."

"That's not very flattering."

""Why would you wish to be flattered over not sleeping?"

"I don't – never mind." She shook her head, thinking she was right. Who could bear a lifetime of such explanations. "It doesn't matter." She tried to steel herself to say the words, to say she was leaving, and couldn't. They stuck in her throat. She looked down, fighting for some sort of control.

"Amanda?"

She couldn't face it, not yet. And tried to turn from his too discerning gaze. He reached out and caught her hand.

His touch seemed to bring back all the memories of the past seven weeks. She looked down at her hand in his. "You're not supposed to touch me. Remember?"

"Yes." But he didn't let go of her hand. "But if I do not, you will go away again." Their gazes met and she had to close her eyes to contain herself at the look in his. "This time, not to return."

She closed her eyes. "Don't Sarek. Please."

"Why have you become angry with me?"

"I'm not …angry with you. I'm angry with myself."

"Surely **that** is not productive."

She choked on a laugh at the open astonishment in his voice. "Aren't you ever angry – frustrated, impatient - with yourself?"

He looked at her steadily, not a flicker of comprehension in his eyes. "Never."

She shook her head in rueful amusement. "What a life you must have. Never to doubt yourself. I don't know whether to envy or pity you. Right now I think envy wins out."

"Neither is productive."

"Sarek, one thing at least, you are never dull."

"I am pleased at your approval," Sarek said, though she thought he wasn't really paying attention, answering her by rote. "But you have not answered my question. And I think you are angry with me. Or you would at least acknowledge my calls, even if you chose not to speak to me."

Amanda shook her head. "It's not going to work, Sarek."

He drew up at that. "Why…why not?"

"I thought we had a deal. I went back to Cambridge and I begged off …certain things… to **meet** my side of that deal and I come back here and everything has changed."

His brows rose at that. "Amanda, **nothing** has changed between us. Nothing in my regard for you."

"**Everything** has changed. I've become a pariah who can't be touched.

"Is that why you would not speak to me? Because I did not touch you?"

"No. Not entirely anyway." She looked up at him, frustrated. "What is the point of all this anyway? If I don't agree to marry you, you'll just marry someone else in ten days."

"That is what concerns you?"

"Why would it not?" She shook her head, wondering at his denseness. "That's how much – or how little – you think of me. Or of marriage. How would **you** feel if someone put the same conditions on me? That if you didn't meet some condition of mine, I'd marry someone else in ten days."

He drew up for a moment, breath catching, dark eyes flashing at that. He didn't speak for a moment. And then when he did, his voice had that terse edge he got with his staff when they displeased him. The one that caused them to rush to correct whatever flaw was there. "Amanda. They can **send **who they like. It is immaterial. I **never** agreed to bond with their choice."

"That's not what your healers say."

"They serve me, not otherwise. If they have displeased you, I will replace them."

"Sarek, they are concerned for your life!"

He had regained his control and when he spoke again, his voice was neutral. "Naturally. That is their function."

"Oh, I don't **understand** you."

"Nothing has changed, Amanda. Nothing. I agreed to the restriction on touching because I believed it to be in **your** best interests. If it distresses you to this extent I will forgo it." As if to prove it, he took both her hands in his. For a moment, he regarded her, then he softened slightly. "To borrow a phrase of yours, I plead…momentary cultural blindness. I had temporarily …forgotten… how much it would distress you."

"But it is dangerous to you, if you do."

"Not dangerous. Perhaps somewhat unwise. But I have confidence that there is no great risk."

She looked at him, suddenly aware of why he'd say that. "Because you still think I'll marry you."

"Yes."

"I haven't said I would."

He tilted his head in a Vulcan shrug. "You are here. You eschewed some future opportunities to be here. You love me."

She closed her eyes and turned away. "Are all Vulcans so arrogant?"

"It is hardly arrogance to state established facts."

"It isn't established that I'd marry you."

"I am also patient. And must needs be, apparently, with you. You are human, and humans take longer than Vulcans, apparently to reach such decisions."

"Don't say it," Amanda said.

"And it is an important and difficult decision," Sarek said, smoothing over his faux paux with diplomatic honey. "However, I have every expectation of the event. "

She drew a sharp breath and looked up at him. "Sarek. How **can** you?"

"Easily enough, with you as example before me. You seem very distressed by the prospects this conflict has raised. You have not slept. You have not eaten. I think that you have been crying. Clearly the prospect of not bonding is unwelcome to you."

"My distress doesn't mean I'll marry you. I could have decided not to."

"If you did not care for me, you would have stayed in Cambridge, not be here. If you did not care for me, you would not be distressed at all."

"I do love you."

"So you have said. You also said at first that you would not marry me unless you loved me. Now that is no longer an obstacle. Nor do you have any doubt of my regard." He stopped suddenly and gave her a sharp look, and she shook her head. She didn't doubt that, couldn't say so with him before her, words of love aside. Slightly appeased, he continued. "Those **were** your conditions. As I understand it, they have been met. Therefore, I do, I **should** have every expectation. Indeed, I fail to understand the reason why you continue to delay your decision. Or continue to suffer in indecision over it."

"Love is all very well, but what if it isn't enough – for either of us?"

"Us? **I** am quite resolved."

"All right, then what if it isn't enough for **me**?"

"Whatever you want I will give you. Amanda, **how** can this be a serious concern? You have not even asked me for anything."

"I don't mean **things**."

"We have discussed your need for a committed relationship. We have discussed children. What else concerns you?"

"Oh, I don't know!"

"You are concerned about emotions."

"That's **one** of my concerns."

"Then speak of it."

"You'll think them ridiculous."

"That is an injustice to me. What concerns of yours have I ever regarded as …silly?"

"None," she admitted.

"Well then?"

"What if I," she flushed, "get homesick?"

"Amanda." He looked down at her, shaking his head. "Terra **is **accessible from Vulcan, or I would not be here. Nor will we be returning home to Vulcan for some time."

"You miss your home," she countered. "I'll miss mine too."

"Should - when you become homesick… we can always return to Earth for a time."

"You don't like Terra."

'I never said anything of the sort."

"You don't have to say it. I can tell."

Sarek tilted his head at her, giving her a sharp look, as if she'd surprised him. "Indeed. Perhaps. Even so, I don't see the relevancy. I can suffer it for a temporary return."

"That's **so** reassuring," she said dryly.

"I would think you **would** find it reassuring, that I understand what it is to …miss…one's home."

She thought about that. "Yes. You're right."

"Amanda." He turned to look at her, eyes narrowed. "Did you think I intended to …to somehow hold you captive on Vulcan?"

"How would I know?"

Sarek half smiled. "You do know. You are now manufacturing excuses."

She wanted to tell him that she wasn't, that she couldn't possibly know **him** the way he seemed to believe he knew **her**. Perhaps that he was a telepath made this sort of thing so much easier for him. But that didn't help her. "Well now you know the truth. The woman you want to marry is nothing but a coward."

"I think the woman I want to marry is little more than a child, and now that the prospect is here, is understandably concerned about leaving her home. This much I already knew, to a certain extent."

"That's hardly a flattering assessment either."

"Because you would miss your home? I believe I know your heart well enough to understand that."

"The kind of missing I'm talking about wouldn't be alleviated by a vacation on Earth. You couldn't just …give up…your culture. I can't give up mine."

"Indeed. What you seem to have not realized is that I would understand. It is a natural concern, for human or Vulcan. And I don't consider you deficient to consider such. On the contrary, you show you appreciate the seriousness of your decision. I approve. But I cannot alleviate your concerns if you do not voice them."

"So you can tell me what I want to hear?" She challenged.

"Naturally." He gave her a look of unmitigated Vulcan innocence.

"Sarek –"

"I am sure that you would never imply that I am being …disingenuous." He gave her a glance that implied butter would not melt in his mouth. "On the contrary, I would tell you what you wish to hear to address your justifiable concerns."

"And now you are **laughing** at me," she said, indignant. And, she couldn't help it, she was amused in turn.

"Indeed." He turned to regard her, as Vulcan impassive as ever. "Am I?"

She swatted him. He deserved it. He was laughing at her, without betraying his Vulcan poker face by so much as the slightest curve of a smile. "This isn't funny. Don't try to make me laugh."

He took her hands in his, as if to prevent her repeating her action. "I understand from my research that humor is a most important quality in a spouse."

She tried to tug her hands back. "That is quite enough!"

"Amanda." He stopped and turned her to him. "I quite agree. Enough. I have _put up_ with this to a point, but I will not stand by and watch you hurt yourself over this decision unnecessarily. I do not like seeing you so distressed. Continuing this is pointless. Have done with it. Marry me."

"Emma says that if a woman doubts, she should always say no." She said stubbornly. She was thinking of Thad, urging her in that vein, and curious to see Sarek's response.

"Who is this Emma?" Sarek said, brows drawing together as if preparing to challenge her to logic at twenty paces.

"Not who. What. A character in a book. By Jane Austen. A favorite character and author of mine. You don't even know who **that** is. You don't know who **I **am."

"I will read this Jane Austen, and refute her logic," Sarek countered with Vulcan determination.

"You don't need to refute her. She refutes herself. As a character, Emma was nearly always wrong."

Sarek's brows rose to his bangs. "Then –"

"That's not the point. You don't know **me**. We have no shared history."

"We will **make** a shared history. And I do know you, Amanda. I know you better, much more, than you realize.

"What if **I** don't know **you**?"

"You will."

"Oh, Sarek." She looked down at her hands in his and confessed, "I want to. Part of me does want to but -"

"What?"

She met his eyes. "I am human."

His eyes widened at this. "Amanda, I **have** noticed."

"I can't just - You're not – I know this is ridiculous to ask but…you're not going to expect me to turn into an instant Vulcan are you?"

Brows winged upward. "Have I so far?"

"No. You've been very understanding."

"Indeed," Sarek shook his head as if she had surprised him. "And I believe you have outdone yourself considering issues, with a caution worthy of any **Vulcan**. Amanda you can consider such until our **children** would be ready to bond, and you will not be able to predict them all. Amanda, some things one must choose with the understanding that issues **will** arise, and we will deal with them in a reasoned fashion when they do."

She looked down at their joined hands, and then up to his eyes. "You make that sound **so** easy."

"We are both rational people. It will be easy. Simply say yes and let us begin making it so."

Something in her still resisted. "Sarek, this is-"

"Logical. It is the most reasonable solution to our current situation. Therefore, take the logical course. Marry me."

She tried to pull her hands away. "You aren't supposed to be touching me, remember?"

"It wouldn't be much of a marriage if I could not touch my wife, would it? Marry me."

Her eyes narrowed. "What about that girl, the Vulcan one, the one coming here on the fast scout ship."

"Did I forget to mention that? Or did you run away from me before the conclusion of the conversation? And refuse to take my calls." His hands tightened briefly on hers, and then with effort he relaxed them. "I had them turn the ship around, Amanda."

She drew a sharp breath. "You shouldn't have-"

He forestalled her protest. Drew her face up to him and kissed her, possessively, demandingly, until she was breathless and dizzy. And then drew back, his eyes still grave, his expression as severe as if he had not just engaged in such a human act. "It was not important to me. I never had any intention of bonding to her – to anyone but you. You see, you spent a sleepless night for no reason. So now **that** concern is alleviated. Marry me. Or have you some other concerns I have not addressed?" He drew back from her, looking her over anew, as if the issues would be visible on her features. "If so, speak them. Do not spend another night anxious and unhappy. Whatever they are, I will deal with them."

When she didn't immediately answer, he kissed her again. Very thoroughly.

She leaned against him, fingers tight around his arms, head reeling with dizziness.

He drew back and looked down at her. "Nor, as you can see, am I averse to touching you. Do you concede that?" When she didn't respond, he bent his head down and kissed her again.

Finally, she put up a hand to forestall him.

He drew back. "I hope you concede that.

"Yes."

"Then, what else is there? Marry me."

She looked up at him, leaning against him, catching her breath.

"Amanda?" He studied her, and his eyes darkened. And for a moment, she saw something deep in those eyes, that utter confidence he'd always had, that had amazed her from the moment she'd met him, waver, flicker, sputter. And that was –somehow – unimaginable to her. She couldn't allow that. She couldn't do that to him. Still half breathless, she nodded. Before that steady light could wink out.

His eyes widened a trifle, but he shook his head. "No."

She was shocked in turn at this, before he clarified his refusal.

"After months of waiting I wish to hear you say it." He tipped her chin up. Inexorable. Demanding. "Yes means _yes_, Amanda. **Say** it."

She was appropriately indignant. "First – first, you kiss me until I can't breathe, and then you expect me to -"

"Yes means **yes**. It is a simple affirmative. Say it."

"You are so-"

"Amanda." He took her shoulders in his, as if prepared to kiss her again, but she drew her head back. Looking at him. She didn't see a Vulcan, or a stranger, or an alien, or anything of the sort. She saw Sarek. Who loved her, whether he would say it or not. Loved her enough to risk unimaginable things for her, from his life in _Pon Far_ to the shaking of the unshakable confidence he seemed to have been born with. She couldn't return that love, that trust, that confidence with anything less. And she did love him. It was like fighting a tide that was sweeping her away to try to deny it. She couldn't fight it - him - any longer. It wasn't just hurting her, now, it was hurting him. She couldn't allow that. And she couldn't leave. In the face of that, she damned all other concerns as insubstantial. She looked up into his eyes, steeling herself for it. Swallowing hard.

"Yes means yes." Sarek repeated. He still held her shoulders tightly. But his voice was very gentle. "Say it, Amanda."

She drew a breath and said it. "Yes. I will marry you." And a shiver went through her, as if part of her only realized then what she had just said. Just done. Committed herself to. Closing the door on one life. Closing it, irrevocably. Another beckoned. She had but to walk through it. Well, at least she wouldn't be…alone…when she did. She looked up at him, the man, the Vulcan, she was going to marry, torn between relief, love and more than a little anxiety. She was half tempted to beg the words back.

Sarek relaxed his grip on her shoulders, though he didn't seem at all surprised. In fact, he seemed amused. "It is about time, my wife-to-be. I had…almost… begun to believe you would never say it."

He was so matter of fact, so calm, so …amused… she felt reassured enough to answer him in turn. "Small chance of that, with you **nagging** at me constantly…" But then she couldn't keep up the fiction, aware of what she had just agreed to. A choice that once chosen, she had been warned could not be unchosen. She trailed off, thinking of that. Shivered a little. It wasn't that she didn't want to marry him. Part of her was relieved the choice was over, wanted to embrace a happiness that she did feel was waiting for her, if only she would reach for it. But there was a part of her, a provincial part that stood back, appalled and yes, afraid. If only just a little bit. "Sarek…"

"It is all right, Amanda." He drew her close. "**Everything** will be all right now."

She looked at him, and nodded slowly, forcing herself to believe that. To trust him. That and love would have to carry her along.

"What now?" she asked.

"Now, we talk to the healers. And arrange for a bonding. But first,"

"Yes?"

"There is something I would like to do, even before we speak to the healers. It is a …touch, which is only performed between bondmates."

She looked at him. "More intimate than a kiss?"

"A kiss is only between lips. For humans. This touch is between bondmates, though it is acceptable even in public."

She drew a deep breath, wondering what could be more intimate than a kiss and yet such a public gesture. "All right."

He took her hand, and folded her ring and little fingers across her thumb, and joined her middle and index fingers to his. She looked at him. "Just a touch of fingers?"

"It is not only a touch of fingers, Amanda." He dropped his barriers slowly, and let his mind touch hers. Just briefly. Or he would not be able to stop at a mere light touch of minds. And he wanted this bonding well and truly cast. Her eyes widened at the touch of his mind, but she did not shy away. He reluctantly drew back from the mind touch, but kept her fingers to his. He had, after all, waited long enough for this.

She had settled after her brief surprise, and now looked grave, but smiled a little, a brief quirk of lips. "All that from just two fingers? What happens if we hold hands?"

"The two fingered touch is considered appropriate in public, Amanda. Hands would be considered excessive, except in private." He looked down at her bend head, looking at their joined fingers. "Which this is," he admitted. And put his palm to hers in what would be a most improper gesture anywhere but in very private quarters.

"'And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss'" she quoted, regarding their joined palms, wondering if it portended some omen.

"Amanda?"

"A quote. From _Romeo and Juliet_.1 A legendary romantic play of star crossed lovers. By William Shakespeare."

"Star crossed?"

"Ill-fated."

He drew up a little at that. "In that case, I believe I prefer Jane Austen."

Amanda sighed, and looking up at her husband, smiled. "Well, in her stories the lovers always end up together. Happily."

"Then I definitely prefer Jane Austen." Sarek looked down at her.

"So do I, Sarek. So do I."

"As well as Phyllis McGinley," Sarek said, bending his head down for a human kiss to add to their joined palms. "There is much to be said for …diversity."

_To be continued…_

1 Shakespeare, William, _Romeo and Juliet_, 1591


	73. Chapter 73

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 73**

**Stardate 2250.4 Vulcan**

Amanda picked her way among the parapets to where Sarek stood, back uncompromising straight, broad-shouldered, black against the spreading shadows and setting sun. The city of Shikahr was just beginning to light up, far across the desert. And above the stars were just starting to wink through the curtain of dusk. It wasn't night yet. Only twilight. The great dark hush of night was still waiting to fall like a curtain, snuffing the day.

Sarek had been meditating, at least in part. And partly, as Mark had said, counting his lucky stars. Though he would have been hard pressed to say which of the myriad stars above were his lucky ones. Perhaps they all were. Or perhaps just one. Though Sol was impossible to see from here.

"Sarek?"

He turned swiftly, concerned at her appearance here, so soon after the incident with T'Lean. "Amanda. I don't think it is wise for you to be up here."

"Why?" she made as if to look under a bench, behind a flowerpot. "No one **else** is hiding here to throw me over, are they?"

He was exasperated at her teasing. "No, of course not. But this place must have unpleasant memories." He held out a hand to her, "Come, let us go down."

"I'm not going to fling myself off the building," she said, undrawn. "I've been there, done that, as they say. And this time, I might not catch a lematya head to save me."

"I did not think you would, but I am relieved to hear it."

"Nor am I going to lose it and run madly for the gate."

"A logical concern of mine. You have before."

She half smiled. "Well, you know what Jane says. '_Run mad as often as you chuse, but do not faint.'"_

"That one I haven't read my wife."

"One of her more obscure works. _Love and Friendship_. And at least, as to the latter, I didn't. Faint, that is."1

"Seeing you nearly be tossed over this parapet, I almost did," Sarek returned dryly.

"But you're well now. And so I am. We are neither one of us running mad nor fainting."She crossed to him.

He drew her down beside him, took her hand in his. "Amanda, I have been thinking…"

"Yes?" She looked up at him.

"Perhaps we should move to the Palace," Sarek suggested tentatively. "At least temporarily," he added at her quick start. "You know that T'Pau would be pleased. And it would take you away from-"

"Oh, no." Amanda forestalled him. "No. This is our **home**. We can't be driven from it. Certainly not because of T'Lean."

"Not merely because of T'Lean."

"The Palace holds some stressful memories for us as well, my husband."

"Then somewhere else," Sarek said inexorably.

"We can't run away from the past, Sarek. Neither of us."

"I am not thinking of running, my wife. Just recovering without the handicap of constant reminders."

She took his hand. "We will recover. Both of us." She looked up at him. "Can't we do it here?"

"Is that really what you want?"

"Yes. Oh, yes. This is our home. Sarek, it is **my** home."

He looked at her.

"My home. I'll put up with the fact that my kitchen is no longer my own, but filled with cooks and guards and scullery maids. With the Vulcan elves and the Vulcan guards. I'll even take another damn attendant, since I'm sure T'Pau will require one of me, for Council duties if for nothing else. And I'll get used to it." She smiled. "I am infinitely adaptable, after all. And you're not too shabby yourself in that regard. But I want to do it **here**."

Sarek regarded her a moment. "Perhaps in the Palace things would be more …controlled."

She turned to him, puzzled. "Controlled?"

"You might have less of a predilection for…accidents."

"Accidents." Amanda drew a breath, bridling slightly. "Sarek I am **not** careless. Or clumsy. No more than any human. I didn't jump over that parapet, nor did I tumble over it. I was **pulled** off."

"Yes. But—"

"'Yes, but' **nothing**. Sarek, **you** can be careless too."

His brows flew to his bangs. "I?"

She held up her wrist. "Who broke this? Again."

Sarek bridled. "That was-"

"An **accident**. Yes, sometimes I scratch or cut myself. But **you've** slipped a few times too, Sarek. Maybe not as often as my so-called 'careless accidents' but with more devastating results."

Sarek drew a sharp breath, eyeing her as if he'd never seen her. "I had not considered that parallel, my wife."

"Another instance of cultural blindness?"

"Perhaps individual stubbornness. Very well. I concede as to your logic. I have my own careless moments." He looked at her anew, as if amazed she could still surprise him. "But I still think the Palace might be better for you. Or somewhere else. Someplace with less unpleasantly…conditioned…associations."

She frowned at him. "Unpleasant conditioned associations…have you been talking to Mark again?"

"Yes."

"Whatever happened to doctor/patient confidentiality?" she complained.

"As my wife, you have none from me," Sarek said. "Amanda, I have come to new conclusions about a number of things." He looked down into her anxious eyes, and smoothed her hair. "There will be no more lessons."

Her eyes widened. "Sarek. What are you saying?"

He looked down at her in mild exasperation. "Do not pretend to argue for them, Amanda, when I have known all these years how you dislike them."

"I'm not going to advocate for them," she said, shocked at the implication. "I don't think they do a thing to keep me safe in _Pon Far_."

"Rather the reverse," Sarek said.

"Rather the reverse. For that matter, I don't **worry** about being safe in _Pon Far_." Seeing his skeptical expression, she added, "I really **don't**, Sarek. That's your personal bugaboo."

Sarek sighed at that word. "I will not even deign to ask."

"Please don't. But you know I love you. And you're invariably careful, even in _Pon Far_."

"Except when I'm careless," Sarek said, looking down, fingers tracing her wrist.

"Well, I'll forgive **your** careless slips, if you forgive mine," she teased. "Isn't that what we've done, all these years?"

"Amanda!"

"Believe me, I would happily, cheerfully trade **your** occasional slips for **my** not worrying about you snapping at me for every scratch and sunburn. It's only fair trade, you know. I don't snap at you for yours."

Sarek regarded her doubtfully. "As you say, my wife. It seems to me, however, that you are not gaining much in either trade."

"It's a fair trade to me." She frowned a little. "But I'm a little surprised – no, more like astonished – that you've changed your mind so completely and abruptly on something you've been so adamant about. I can't quite believe you."

"I have obtained some new data."

"From Mark," she said, looking uneasy.

"From my own conclusions as well. Amanda, I am merely conceding to some of the assertions you have been making all along."

"Yet you so rarely concede I'm right about these sorts of things that I can't help but be shocked."

"Then this should be an agreeable shock."

"It is." She eyed him. "All right. If you are sure. I still don't quite believe you. But it would make me happy." She shook her head. "If it's true, then **very** happy."

"I **wish** you to be happy, my wife."

"It's a deal then."

"A treaty," Sarek suggested, gently teasing.

She smiled. "'Who better to have one with?" she asked, from their shared history.

"Indeed. But having granted you are correct in the matter of lessons, I still think we should move to the Palace for a time. Or somewhere else."

"You are so stubborn," she complained. "You never give up. But no. I absolutely refuse to move. Anyway, how can we truly say we've recovered, if we can't recover here?" she shook her head. "We will recover. We already have, haven't we? In some respects that I think even you have not considered."

He looked down at her. "How so?"

She tightened her grip on his hand, and looked down, to see their entwined hands, human and Vulcan. His large strong hand, and her small one, almost lost against his, but strong too, in her own way. She hesitated, and then said it. "You listened to the call, Sarek. You **listened** to him."

He straightened his shoulders, but didn't reply.

"You listened to Spock." She looked up at him. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. But **I** consider that progress.

Sarek was still quiet.

She considered that in turn. "Perhaps it is just as well, he is not coming home for the summer." She took her husband's arm, hugged it to her, leaned against him. "Perhaps it is too soon."

Sarek looked down at her blond head on his shoulder. "Yes."

She hugged his arm tighter. "But not too soon to recover."

"Perhaps."

"No perhaps about it. I know so."

He half smiled, but there was pain behind his dark eyes, gazing down at her head on his shoulder. "Amanda. Was there-?"

She looked up at him. "What?"

He swallowed hard. "Anything **I **could have said, or done, the night before he left, to convince him to stay? I have meditated on that, quite often."

She looked into his eyes, her hand in his, bodies so close. He was a touch telepath and they were bonded. She couldn't lie to him. She wasn't even sure what would be worse, a lie or the truth.

"I think… not. Not the night before he left."

"What do you mean?"

"The rift between you two began much earlier. Years earlier." She sighed slightly. "It might have been a mistake to raise Spock so entirely within the traditions."

"Neither you nor I had any choice about that, if we were to see Spock attain the position he was entitled to by birth." Sarek had tensed again. "The position he has now rejected."

"He has **not** rejected it," Amanda soothed. "He's just taking a detour, Sarek. Vulcans are long lived enough, what does it **matter** if Spock spends a few years in Starfleet?" Seeing him so tense, she hugged him tighter. "The fact is, we did too good a job raising him Vulcan, Sarek. He's so very Vulcan, here at home; I think he believes he can't be anything **but** Vulcan here. And if he wants to explore his human side, even a little bit, he has to go elsewhere."

"Is that what he told you?"

"No. It's just what I think. Sarek, he didn't tell me much either. Regardless of his reasons, I was as much in the dark about his plans as you were. That doesn't say much for either of us, I'm afraid, as parents."

A pain still rose in him. "But you had the means to stop him. And you did not."

She looked up at him. "I could have forced him to stay, yes. Not convinced him to stay. And only for a little while. But if I had, through such a tactic, I would have lost him irrevocably. That much I do know. It would have broken his heart." She felt him shift, infinitesimally, and she tightened her hand around his. It came to her, only now, that Spock's leaving had broken her husband's heart. She hadn't realized that until now. How trapped she'd been, between destroying her child, or nearly destroying her husband. She closed her eyes in profound gratitude that Sarek was well again, that they had sidestepped that fatal bullet. And then opened them to the reality of her husband before her. "Don't tell me you don't understand that. You do. You could have forced him to stay too. You would have found a way, if you hadn't known, deep down, it would have been the wrong choice. And it would have." _And it broke you_, she thought. But she could not say that.

"I am not sure I agree," Sarek said, with careful remoteness.

"Well, I believe that. And he would have gotten around us eventually, and left with even more of a breach between us. If he's going to come back, Sarek, he needs at least one door irrevocably open."

"Perhaps."

"If I had tried to stop him too, he would have just found another way. And we wouldn't have lost him for a few years. We might have lost him forever."

Sarek tensed further at that. "He had no right to go."

"He was ready, Sarek. He needs some time to grow up…without you." She hugged him, in compensation for the pain of those words. "Without both of us. It **is** what children do."

"Not Vulcan children."

She ached at that. "He is **so** like you, Sarek. Much more than I think you realize. But you are so strong; I think he needed to get away from you for a while, just so that he could become his own person. He is also my son too. And he can't help being that. That was **our** choice, to have him, a child of both of us. Not his choice. Don't punish him for being both our child. Don't punish me for it either."

"You?" Sarek looked down at her, smoothed her hair back from her brow. "You have done nothing wrong."

"I think that I have."

"How so?"

She looked at him, a husband who everyone on the planet had nearly given up for dead, certain he'd die in _vrie_, in madness. And she could not speak of her own guilt in that. How had all of this started? With a _Pon Far_ that had not ended cleanly? With a broken wrist, a thoughtless move on her husband's part, and the guilt it engendered? Was it her own careless ways that taxed her Vulcan husband's control? Or had it started even further back, when they had first brought their son home and began to innocently, lovingly categorize what feature, what trait, belonged to whom? Had it begun the day Spock had made a decision to be raised Vulcan? Or has it begun the day she'd seen what that decision was doing to her child, and determined to save him from it, even against his will? And forced Sarek to a compromise that had been none at all, that had so terrified her son into such rigid Vulcan standards that his only surcease had been a total embrace of those standards for ten years and then this total devastating break? Or had it begun even further back, to the day she'd agreed to marry Sarek, fearing, knowing, doubting her own ability to make it work?

Sarek was a telepath, and they were bonded. He knew something of her doubts, her fears, her love, and her rebellions. Sometimes she had felt their marriage was a fairy tale, a quintessential, archetypal romance. And sometimes, less often, but still **sometimes**, like a marriage of star-crossed lovers, a tragedy in the making. Perhaps it was neither. Perhaps it was both. At the same time, all in tandem as well. And she couldn't help it, because fairy tale or tragedy, she couldn't deny that she still loved him. So much. Not quite as long as Sarek had loved/wanted her, but almost.

She spoke to that love in him that she knew he felt. "You are punishing me too. And yourself. Because it breaks my heart to have you two so estranged. And it hurts you and Spock as well. I love you…both. Even when neither of you will let me. Or show it to eachother."

Sarek couldn't deny the truth of that, in spite of the pain he was feeling. "In time," Sarek offered, "perhaps, we will not be estranged."

"When?"

"I don't know. In time."

For a moment she was quiet, letting them both consider, and accept that statement. It was a concession on Sarek's part, of sorts. And there was a limit to how much emotion even she could accept in her Vulcan marriage. Right now she couldn't bear one more pain-laced word, or thought.

She took a breath, a beat. Then she leaned back against him, and said archly, "You are asking for time and you can't tell me how much?

For a moment, he stared at her, and then, he almost smiled. "You are… wicked, my wife. Very wicked. Extremely wicked. How **can **you say such things at such a time as this?"

"At such a time as this we most need them." She said solemnly, laid her head on his shoulder. "That's **our **shared history, my husband. And it's one I also love." She sighed. "And I want to share it with you **here**. This is our home. Our shared history. And I wouldn't trade it, for anything."

Sarek merely wrapped an arm around her in concurrence, and for a while they watched a pair of birds winging through the evening thermals. They were predators. And given that, mates, of course, to share the same stretch of sky. That was fitting too. There were no swans here, no arrows in the sky pointing the way to a safe haven for her and Sarek, no fairy tales. But here even the Vulcan raptors mated for life.

After a moment, she said, "Do you know he uses the same phrase? **Wicked.** It was quite a shock for me to hear him say it. He sounds just like you when he does, too. I hope T'Pring appreciates it. And him."

She could feel him tense. She looked up to see him looking terse. Grim. "Amanda, you must not-"

"Don't. Please. Even if you won't talk to him yet, can't I talk to you **of** him? Otherwise…"

He looked down at her. "What?"

"He is growing up, my love. And even though I see so much of you in him, and me as well, he's also becoming his own person too. Even for me, talking to him every week, the fact that we are so far apart," she looked up at him, "some things get…lost in translation. I find myself forgetting things I shouldn't forget."

"My memory is unimpaired," Sarek said stiffly. "I remember his disobedience, quite well."

"Sarek. Please don't. Don't dwell on that unfortunate leave-taking. It was wrong of him to do that, and I've told him so. But he is very young, and you do intimidate him, at least a little. I think he didn't know what else to do. Don't stay angry with him for that. Please. I have enough trouble mediating between you too. Between his anger that you are not speaking to him. And your anger over his leaving."

"I am not angry."

Amanda said nothing to this.

"My silence is not from anger. I simply will not enable his disobedience by continuing to act the parent when he has refused the duties of a child. That you and T'Pau do this is bad enough, I will not add to the folly. And as he has brought the current estrangement on himself; he has no cause for resentment. He is the one who left. Provided he repents his disobedience, and returns to his home to accept those duties, and my authority, I will not discipline him for his regrettable mistake. I consider **that** leniency enough. Far more than the child deserves."

Amanda sighed. "That is not what I meant. Sarek, he doesn't regret his decision. He is content where he is." She didn't dare mention Starfleet by name.

He bridled at that near heresy. "Then there is nothing to be said. To him. Or of him."

"Yes, there is," she said stubbornly. "Even if he is disobedient, by your lights, he is still your son. Our son. I don't care what he's done, or might do. He could be wanted for extradition on a dozen Federation planets and that wouldn't matter. Love means loving him, no matter what he does."

"I cannot, Amanda."

She sighed, frustrated. "Well, you're new to it. You'll come around in time. I just hope it doesn't take you **another** twenty years."

"This is not a matter of amusement to me," Sarek said severely.

Amanda sighed. "Love means loving him even when he's not everything you want in a son." She looked up at him. "It means loving **me** when I'm not everything you want in a wife."

"You are."

"Oh, Sarek. I am not. I never have been, from the first day you met me in the embassy. We are none of us perfect."

For a moment, Sarek regarded her, and then he determined he would tell her something he had for so long concealed, telling himself it was unimportant. But if she would confess to imperfection, when he considered her to be such, then he could do no less. And if she had forgiven him _vrie_, surely she could forgive him these lesser imperfections. Or so he hoped. "Amanda. I have never spoken to you of this."

She looked up at him, already wary, just from his grave tone. "What? What now? What **else**?"

_To be continued…_

1 Austen, Jane, Love and Friendship, 1922 "Beware of swoons Dear Laura. . . . A frenzy fit is not one quarter so pernicious; it is an exercise to the Body and if not too violent, is I dare say conducive to Health in its consequences-Run mad as often as you chuse; but do not faint-"


	74. Chapter 74

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 74**

"I had seen you **before** that first day at the embassy," Sarek confessed. "Before what you believed to be our first meeting.

Amanda drew her brows together in puzzlement. "You had?"

"I **did** arrange for you to come to the embassy because I had seen you earlier, in Geneva. You were giving an interview to the press. I had stopped to watch. At first, out of concern for the individuals were somewhat unruly, and then…for other reasons. You looked at me, but I don't think you saw me. Nor did I believe you recalled the incident. I chose not to bring it to your attention. But from that moment, I …wanted you. I arranged for you to come to the Embassy. For that purpose." He could feel her tense under his arm.

She looked down, thinking back through cloudy memories. "I don't remember the interview. I was giving so many then." She looked up at him. "I don't even remember **seeing** you before I met you at the embassy." Sarek drew up a little at that.

"How odd," Amanda said, wonderingly. "The most important moment of my life, the moment we met, and I don't remember you."

"We didn't meet," Sarek said, watching her.

"Even so."

"Though your eyes did meet mine, for a moment. I could help you to remember, if you wish," Sarek offered, awkwardly.

She eyed him. "Thank you. But…no. If I can't remember it on my own…" she took a step away, thinking. Looked across at him, measuringly. "But, as to your confession, I think I always suspected At the back of my mind, I knew deep down. That there was something like that."

"I thought you did. But you did not ask."

"Maybe before I married you, I didn't really want to know. And after…at least at first, I **really** didn't want to know. But it has plagued me over the years. So it's something of a relief to know I wasn't imagining that." She looked at him. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I thought you would dislike it. Perhaps I was …ashamed myself, to admit to such …disingenuous methods."

She was quiet for a moment. "I'm not sure what to think about that." She looked at him and shrugged. "It was a bit …calculating. And controlling. But being calculating is part of being Vulcan. And when you have **your** mind set on something, you **can** be somewhat controlling. Oh, let's face it. You can be a lot controlling. Particularly when it's personal. It's part of who you are, Sarek. It's a little late for me take exception to that in you."

"You are not displeased?"

She shrugged. "You might have told me. On the other hand, I never asked. And it was twenty years ago. You hardly knew anything of my culture. And after all these years I'm still finding out aspects of yours. I'm not going to get upset about it now. But I thank you for telling me."

He let out a relieved breath. "There is one more thing. Perhaps, perhaps more than a bit ignoble." He waited till she raised wary blue eyes to his. "Just before you agreed to marry me, I spoke to the Federation Secretary. I had them arrange for you to be freed of your commitments."

She closed her eyes. This was worse. She thought of what he wasn't saying. And she remembered those documents. The ones in Thad's office. "Why?"

"I thought it best."

She set her mouth. "That's no answer, Sarek."

"You were distressed about your choice. I thought it would be easier if you had fewer conflicts with which to contend."

"Or maybe you were trying to release me from them, prematurely."

He eyed her. "I will not deny that was a beneficial side effect."

"How did you do it?" she asked.

"A conversation with the Federation Secretary."

"Did you approach him, or he you?"

"I made a suggestion."

"And I take it they were amenable?"

"Of course."

She winced. "Sarek. Are you saying I was some sort of …treaty tribute?" She forced herself to look up, meet his gaze. "Tell me the **truth**, Sarek. It's something I've always wondered about. Did you threaten to make the negotiations more difficult if they didn't do it?"

Sarek drew up at that. Eyed her speculatively. "Threaten? That would be illogical."

She shook her head, her eyes narrowed. "Sarek…" she warned. "Don't give me Vulcan doubletalk. I know you too well."

"I perhaps…implied…I would regard the process more favorably if such were done."

She closed her eyes at that, surprised at how embarrassed and hurt she felt, even after twenty years.

"Amanda?"

"Why did you do it?" she asked tightly. Even knowing the answer.

"I thought it would help."

"Help me? Or you?"

"Both. You seemed …torn."

"So you thought a little heavy handed political weight would sway my decision in your favor?"

"The decision was yours. I just endeavored to have fewer obstacles placed in your way toward

making it."

She regarded him narrowly. "And you were a little jealous of Jake too. Weren't you? You didn't **want** me to take that documentary series."

"No. I did not." Sarek gave her a cool look. "He was not suitable for you."

She opened her mouth in shock at this. "And **you** of course were perfect for me."

"You were perfect for **me**. And I was willing to make a personal commitment," Sarek said. "He was only using you professionally."

"Sarek, you have never understood about that. Jake and I were merely colleagues. Business associates."

"Then he was doubly a fool."

Amanda shook her head, sighing a little. "Jake and I never had that kind of relationship. But in one respect you're right. If I had taken that documentary, which would have benefited my career incidentally, we would never have gotten married. I would have come to my senses." She looked at him. "**You** certainly would have come to your senses. Or someone would have done it for you."

"Never."

"I thought you had done with never?"

"Not in this."

She looked at him, evaluatingly. "I loved you. Then and now. I might not have made the same choice then. Who knows? But if I hadn't it would have been the wrong choice. I guess that makes up for whatever deficiencies there were in your tactics." She smiled wickedly. "Or that you have as a spouse."

"So I have deficiencies," Sarek raised an eyebrow. "Am I to know them?"

"A catalog that large takes time to compile. I'm only human," she teased. "I might not live long enough to finish it."

He looked torn between amusement and displeasure. "Amanda-"

"I **am** teasing."

"I fail to appreciate it. It is well known that Vulcans have no sense of humor."

"And that they're lousy liars. Your sense of humor is one of the things I first liked about you." She regarded him with narrowed eyes. "All right. Fair trade now. You have to tell me what made you hijack me from my research into your embassy. You never have, you know."

For a moment Sarek just looked at her. "You were brave."

Her eyes widened in astonishment. "How can you say that? Oh, I have my moments of courage. But sometimes I'm the biggest coward that ever walked the face of the earth."

Sarek just shook his head. "You asked, my wife. And my assessment stands. I admired that quality in you. I thought it made you…a worthy successor to T'Ianye."

Her eyes widened at that. "Hmmm. Funny what we still don't know of each other even after twenty years."

"I have no objection to another twenty, to continue the research." He paused a moment, and then added, with a trace of a dig,"Perhaps by then you will finish your catalog of my faults."

"Perhaps by then you'll have rectified them," she teased.

"And do you forgive me for this last admission?"

She sighed. No doubt he had been trying to help in his own way, his own Vulcanly convoluted view of her, how torn she'd been at that time. Not to mention to get what he wanted. Always, and exactly. She didn't think badly of him for that. His strength of will was a hereditary trait in his line, had led Vulcan from violence to peace, had kept the clans of Vulcan from war for 5000 years, had kept Vulcan and its colonies and protectorates safe from Romulan incursion and had insured Vulcan came into the Federation on Vulcan's terms. How could she fail to admire his strength of will? His infallible faith that he was always right? That he'd also used it in pursuing her should be no surprise. Why wouldn't he? It was part of who he was.

Twenty years of living with him had taught her how little he had really understood of humans, of her, of her culture, and she of his. They were bound to get things wrong. The issue was not what they did wrong, but how they put them right. And in this case, the real pain she felt was not so much that Sarek had crossed something of a human line. She'd been known to outrage his Vulcan sensibilities in various ways – in spite of all his patience, she could hardly be said to have learned those tedious _Pon Far_ lessons.

The real pain to her in this revelation was that her own government, her own culture, had acceded to his ploy. All these years, she'd been, to certain people, in some way, a treaty tribute, a bone thrown by the Federation to Sarek. Or something worse. They'd done it without a word to her of acknowledgement, or apology. She supposed they considered the cause just. But there was a name for what she'd been made to be, and hardly a pretty one.

No wonder the people in the embassy had regarded her askance, particularly when she'd refused to be… bought …a second time. A woman who was salable was supposed to be able to be bought by the highest bidder. And she'd refused those advances, had thrown that surmise in their face, and been doubly scorned for it. Not just for what they'd assumed she was, but as a hypocrite as well. She hadn't known that for sure at the time but she had always suspected. They'd been pretty clear about it. And suspecting had been bad enough. For a moment, bathed in the embarrassment of twenty years ago, she wondered if she could ever face anyone again.

"Amanda? Are you…very displeased?"

_To be continued…_


	75. Chapter 75

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 75**

She looked up into his concerned eyes at that hesitant query, and sighed. What was she thinking? Yes, it was embarrassing. But she'd nearly spent the rest of her life as chattel. Because of T'Pau, she'd spent her first twenty years on Vulcan technically as a consort, rather than a wife. Not much more than a concubine, for all that. Even long after Sarek's first _Pon Far_, when her marriage was validated by all Vulcan custom, and T'Pau should had been obliged to acknowledge her, she had refused. Long after her son was born, raised, grown, sealed to Council, when he'd been accepted as heir. She'd still been an unacknowledged wife. A consort. And an outcast in the clan. All of Vulcan had known of that. She had been outside of much of Vulcan society, so that it hadn't bothered her so much, but Spock had suffered for it, been teased about it.

Just as they all knew she'd been chattel now.

She faced that unpleasant truth. If all of Vulcan, at least of Vulcan clan hierarchy, knew of her past chattel status, that meant the Terran embassy staff on Vulcan must know something of it too. She thought of the UFP flyer on the sands of her Vulcan home. Perhaps they hadn't then, but they surely did now. And that meant the Federation hierarchy did too. Everyone highly placed in the Federation diplomatic offices would have been briefed. The next time she traveled off planet with Sarek…her face burned. Not that they'd blame Sarek for it. He was Vulcan, alien, beyond the pale. Human standards did not apply to him.

She wondered, stickler for Vulcan standards as her husband could be, if he realized how much **she** had given up for him in terms of human standards. She sometimes thought he didn't think humans had **any** standards in that regard. Profligate as humans could be in their behavior, she could perhaps forgive him that misconception. And she'd never been eager to educate him. For when what had happened to her became known, if it hadn't already, they'd look at her even more askance. It didn't do any good to tell herself that what she'd done had been laudable by some Vulcan standards. And only some. T'Pring's mother certainly had not considered it so, nor T'Lean for that matter.

And by human standards? They would think the less of her for it. No they wouldn't blame Sarek for it; there was still a double standard in human relations. A woman, a self respecting, twenty-third century emancipated woman, didn't submit herself to such a state, didn't submit herself to such a marriage. They'd class her right not much above the Orion slave girls. In some ways no doubt they already did. Always had.

Perhaps it didn't matter, was just more of the same, more of the way humans had looked at her, for years, when Sarek gave one of his thoughtless commands, orders, in public and she acquiesced without a murmur.

And some of those had no doubt known he had bartered with the Federation for her. Bought her, for a treaty. Oh, he hadn't forced her, she'd said yes. But he'd bought her, and they'd sold her, and that she'd said yes was something of a side issue. To them, the implications were plain. He'd wanted her, and they'd put her in his way. Between her first remembered meeting of him, to those legal documents commandeering her, they'd thrown her to him. And whether they thought her too shrewd not to capitalize on a powerful man's interest, or too stupid to understand what had been going on around her, or that she actually liked the idea of being as much property as wife, they couldn't think much of her. Perhaps there wasn't much to think of her in that regard. She wouldn't call herself stupid. She had her suspicions. But she'd thought better of the Federation hierarchy then. And she'd only been twenty and in love, at least love as a twenty year old felt love. She'd been young for the sort of cynicism her situation had required. And if being, at least in some respects property was part and parcel of being Sarek's wife, well, she'd been willing. She had been willing then, glossing over it as much as she could.

And now, with the knowing much less glossed?

She sighed and shrugged. She was still willing.

She faced the fact that her reputation had already been ruined by those that would think ill of her. In that regard, her chattel state meant little. In a way, that was a …relief. She'd had none to ruin. Her reputation had been long lost years ago. It was twenty years too late to second guess Sarek's actions or choices, or her own. Some things could not be undone.

Just like some choices.

"Amanda?" Sarek's dark eyes regarding her worriedly.

She looked at him. It was her life. He was her life. And as she'd told Mark, far too late to question if she or Sarek, had made a mess of it in certain ways. It **was **her life, warts, flaws, foibles and all. And she had married him, had taken all that on with marrying him. No one who hadn't made her choices, been faced with her compromises, her consequences, could truly judge her. In that, as in so much, she was on her own. Well, not quite on her own. She had Sarek. And she still loved him. He was alive, and well, and so was she. And right now, that was what mattered. Oh, yes, of course, the next time she had to meet the knowing gaze of someone in the Federation hierarchy at a diplomatic cocktail party, she might feel a hint of embarrassment. But she'd get over it.

And she damned human provinciality as well as Vulcan. Damned all those who would regard her unfavorably, as outcast or worse. And she took his hand in hers. She hadn't had a human wedding ceremony. But if she had, now, after all these years, outcast or accepted, honored, or disgraced, these were the words she'd say.

She took his hand in hers. "'Happily I think on thee.'"1

"What?" Even for Sarek this was too much non-sequitor, startling him into an uncharacteristic blunt query. No surprise. She'd never left Sonnet 29 around for him to find.

"It doesn't matter. I still love you anyway."

But Sarek was thinking of her love, and how he had …tested it, of late. He certainly could not say that he was everything she could want in a husband. "Amanda?"

"Yes?"

"Did you…love me…even in _vrie_?"

She hugged his arm tight. "Yes. Oh, yes. You were fighting so hard, for both of us."

He regarded her doubtfully.

"Don't think I didn't know that. I **know **you, my husband."

"Perhaps. At any rate, **you** did not leave."

She drew a breath at that, thinking of herself, Federation passport in hand, fainting inside the locked gate. Did he not know about that? Of course that was before she'd known about the _vrie_, when she'd been so ….hurt, and confused about what he had done, what she should do. Well, now was not the time to tell him.

But perhaps Spock had left for the same reasons. He was just a child, with two very different parents, two very different standards of behavior tacitly modeled for him to emulate. He'd chosen Vulcan as a life path when he was still essentially a baby, and had been raised to those standards the first eighteen years of his life. And he'd been hurt by them, and confused too. Sometimes humans did need…distance…to gain perspective. Perhaps Spock did too. Someday she might tell Sarek that, if it would help him understand why Spock had left, if she could think of a way to do it that would not hurt him. She only hoped it wouldn't take something so drastic to bring Spock home, to bring them together again. "Spock is your son, not your wife. And at a different stage of his life."

But he was not thinking of Spock now. "I hurt you. Intimidated you. At times I was …cruel to you."

Vulcans didn't really have the concept of apologizing. In lesser things, for hasty words, Sarek had learned the words, and said them, mostly because she'd sometimes needed to hear them. But it wasn't of his culture. And he didn't say them naturally, unthinkingly as humans did. Where wrongs were done, Vulcans considered restitution the only true mitigation. Sarek's painful admission was something of a milestone in itself.

"Yes. But I loved you anyway. Even in the worst of times, I loved you still." She looked up at him. "Sometimes, I would have had to dig down pretty deep to find it, but I never stopped believing in you – and loving you. I trusted you were still there, somewhere, fighting to get back. That **is** love, my Vulcan husband."

He thought about that, about her, head bowed, the obedient chattel, holding such feelings. He had come to love his human wife, at least as he understood the emotion. He did not pretend he could fully understand it, only that he understood it better, now. But his son…

He thought of Spock. It was still painful to think of him. Painful to think of the son he had ….lost. He considered him lost to him. No longer his son, the son who had rejected the traditions of his family. What purpose did it serve to have such a son, when he refuted his Vulcan heritage, left his family, rejected his proper place in it, the place his parents had so carefully carved out for him. His mother had nearly died bearing him, her sole Vulcan child, when she could have had many Terran children. And he had been forced to watch her take that enormous risk.

Sarek had striven in his own way, to ensure his son's place in Vulcan society, to force acceptance for him, to provide every right, every privilege, every honor he would have had, as a full Vulcan. Provided his son was able to earn them, and Spock **had** done so.

And after all his parents had risked and done to have and make a place for their Vulcan child, after all the child's struggles as well, to master the disciplines, after all Sarek's own trials to steel himself to require the child to accomplish those goals, when leniency would have been so much easier, so much less heartrending, the boy had then refuted, denied them both, all those hard won accomplishments of his, of theirs, earned at the expense of his parent's care and his own efforts, left Vulcan.

Left, rejected, refuted them all. For a Terra his mother had left. And for Starfleet, an institution Sarek could scarcely bear to debate. His son, there. Even the thought of that …betrayal… brought a pain in him almost more than he could bear. And a rejection. He shook his head. "Amanda, I can't discuss him with you. I can't speak of this… or to him. Do not ask me. It is impossible."

"All right. Don't. But do this for me. Don't stop loving him."

He drew up at that. Love was not what he was feeling right now. "Amanda-"

"Don't tell me that you don't, because I know you do. You wouldn't be tied up in knots over his leaving, it wouldn't hurt you so much, if you **didn't **love him. Sarek. You **know** it's true."

He looked at her helplessly, and then…shook his head.

Amanda was exasperated, but it was no more than she had expected, though less than she had hoped. It had taken Sarek twenty years to admit he loved her. She could only hope it would take him less time to admit he loved his son. "Very well. ** I** know it's true."

"**He** doesn't," Sarek said resentfully, not caring how it sounded.

"He's just a child. And you've spent the first eighteen years of his life trying to convince him Vulcans **have** no emotions. And **fool** of a child that he is, he almost believes you. Even with your excellent example otherwise."

"Amanda!"

"Don't Amanda me. You have to take your share of responsibility for that." She looked at him. "Sarek. You don't have to say a word to me of him, or to him. But let me talk of him to you, now and then. And you – **you** just love him, deep down. The way I did for you in _vrie_. Please? Please."

He'd always found it hard to deny her anything. Even in _vrie_. And now he was not in _vrie_. But some things still came very hard to him. He looked at her, and he wanted to say no. But instead, he said, "Perhaps. I will consider it."

She smiled like the sun shining. "I do love you."

"Most illogical."

"I think I am being very logical. And now that I know you can love, I can wait, very patiently, well, perhaps not that, but I can wait for you two to get past this estrangement. I have your excellent example for that, on waiting. How patient you were when I was making a choice to marry you."

"Amanda," Sarek said, exasperated.

"And I certainly wouldn't want to…rush you."

"I am not amused at this, my wife."

"Indeed, my husband," she reached up to kiss him, just a brush of the lips, lightly, tentatively, almost unsure. But then she smiled again, her eyes meeting his, the spark of connection that had first tied them together still undimmed. "Surely this is no less serious an event than what you were forced to wait for. And like you, I have every expectation of success. You see, I have implicit faith in you."

"Perhaps it is unjustified," Sarek suggested.

"Oh, no. You've taught me a lot over the years."

"Indeed." Sarek seemed surprised at that. He'd believed the opposite, that she had been the one to teach him. "And what would that be, my wife?"

"Many things, my husband. Too numerous to mention. But also that," She kissed him again, and drawing back, smiled up at him. "You're not the only one who always gets **exactly** what he wants."

He drew a breath at that, shocked anew that Amanda could so repeatedly use his own words against him. For him. Wondering if that could be true in this case. For both of them. For all of them. "I hope so, Amanda."

"I am sure of it. But as you recall, I've always been just a little slower. At coming to your conclusions. Perhaps at bringing you to mine. At _getting it_, for both of us. Part of **my** catalog of regrettable human faults." She took his hand, leaning against him. "And at getting what I want, I've always needed …just a little more time."

He half smiled. "I don't disagree."

"I didn't think you would. But oh, my husband, is it **worth** it when I do!"

"Amanda." He took her hand in his and they looked out across the wide desert, to the pair of raptors riding the thermals to their aerie in the glowing dusk, to the city of Shikahr twinkling in the distance below the high arching bowl of star field far above their heads. And both found peace in that expectation.

It was an ending of sorts. At least of one chapter in the marriage. They had put the worst of _vrie_ behind them. And not merely _vrie_, but some other old secrets that had been hindering them, crippling them. Now they could move forward into the future a little less shackled by ghosts from the past.

For even fairy tales have to end, and their marriage had never been that. But even in this ending, there was faith in each other, and hope for the future. Disparate as they were, they each had dreams. Sarek considered, strove, toward reconciliation. Spock, far away in Starfleet, dared hope for acceptance. Amanda dreamed of love. A continuum of hopes, wishes, dreams. For themselves, and each other.

It was not too impossible a goal. Even some of the most improbable fairy tales can come true….

_To be continued…_

1 Shakespeare, William, _Sonnet 29_


	76. Chapter 76

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 76**

**Epilogue**

"She is quite well," Sarek was saying to someone on the comm. He glanced at her as she came up behind him. "As am **I**," he added with elaborate patience, in respond to her curious look. "She is recovering. There is no need for undue concern." He cut the connection and turned to face her.

"Who was that?" Amanda asked.

"T'Pau."

"She could have asked me," Amanda said, and then wondered anew at how things had changed for her, that she felt she could so casually claim T'Pau's attention.

"She did not wish to seem importunate."

"She has been feeling awfully guilty." Amanda admitted.

Sarek gave her a look, tacit exasperation for her so attributing human emotions to the matriarch of Vulcan.

"T'Rueth told me T'Pau was still very upset after she left the Terran Medical Center." She gave Sarek a look. "Vulcan or not."

"T'Rueth was remiss to relate such," Sarek said. But then, as Amanda gave him an exasperated look, he added, "T'Pau has **more** than sufficient reason to be so."

She glanced at him in turn. "Sarek. I know your mother a little better, now. I'm sure she didn't believe for an instant that T'Lean would do what she did. Or that I'd be hurt."

"That is not all the guilt she has to expiate," Sarek said, for once unreserved enough to be candid.

"What do you mean?"

"She has twenty years of execrable behavior for which to make recompense. If such can even be said to be possible."

Amanda looked at him. There was a dark edge to his voice that she didn't like to hear. The set to his mouth, the look in his eye, displayed some of what she knew was Sarek's temper and the inexorable condemnation that could come from it. Even though she felt incredulous at defending T'Pau to Sarek, Amanda said, "She explained to me some of why she did that. I understand."

Sarek gave her a quick, disbelieving look. "Amanda, you cannot possibly excuse her behavior."

"She was concerned about her son. I'm a mother too."

Sarek just bridled, not pleased by that argument. "I am not. Even if you forgive her for what she did to you, I find it difficult to excuse the ramifications of her actions, for you, for us. And even for myself. Her concerns led to decisions that caused both of us harm."

She looked at him, innocently curious. "Do you mean because she sent T'Lean to Earth and you think that might have started all this?"

Sarek looked at her, surprised. "I did not think of that as well." His gaze darkened as if he'd added that to an existing collection.

"Sarek after twenty years I have finally made **peace** with your mother. She can be exasperating and overbearing – not at all unlike her son in some respects. But I have long missed having a complete Vulcan family circle and I **want** that in my life. I want it very much. And I want it **now**."

Sarek gave her a sharp look, but Amanda didn't notice.

"If you want to give me everything, then give me **this**. Please don't hold these recent events against her. I'm sure she never believed T'Lean would act as she did. "

"And for the twenty years before that?"

"She told me she is sorry for that too."

Her words were an echo of those long ago. Events that had been plaguing him recently. Sarek brushed her cheek with his hand, thinking of that. "I once told you that you were very sweet, my wife. That assessment stands."

Amanda's eyes narrowed. That was not a term Sarek used. It was so uncharacteristic of him to use such human endearments – they didn't come naturally to his logical thought processes - that she had consigned them all to memory. And took them out, now and then, to savor them. That one, she remembered very well. Not just for what he'd said, but for what he'd done that day.

"_Sweet_. Sarek, that was that day when you came home from Council so upset from a conversation with T'Pau. The day you told me about the rose garden."

Sarek's brows rose to his bangs. "Your memory is sometimes quite…Vulcan…my wife."

She remembered it like it was yesterday. I-Chiya covered in mud, Sarek distressed enough by something that he'd showed her his Vulcan temper for the first time. Didn't he realize how she could never forget that? That first shocking example of Vulcan temper – and Vulcan strength. Apparently, he didn't. Perhaps another instance of Vulcan blindness. "Don't change the subject. Something **happened** that day, didn't it? Something more than just her refusing to accept me. Something you're **still** upset with her about, even after all these years. Something about your mother, to make you use those same words…Sarek, surely whatever it was is past. She has reconciled with me, with us. It is all **right** now."

"It is **not** all right. **You** are not all right. She hurt you – cause **me** to hurt you, inexcusably."

"What do you mean? I'm not hurt. I'm fine."

"You do not remember?" If a Vulcan could look astonished, Sarek did. "Surely you must remember that?"

Amanda looked at sea for a moment. She thought back across twenty years of memories, blinking a little. "I remember you said… she claimed that I'd not be constant." Amanda shrugged at that. "Well, she had reason to think that, Sarek. I **am** human. Humans can be fickle. But surely **we're** past those fears and suspicions."

Sarek literally flushed. He gave her a glance. "I did not tell you all of that conversation. She said not just that, but that it was impossible for **any** human to submit to our ancient passions."

Amanda shrugged at that. "She wouldn't be the first. Even the healers thought that. I have, though, and more. Sarek, we're past **that** too."

"But there was yet more. She said that you would not have the instincts to do so. That you could never be trained to them, that you would never be …**safe**…in _Pon Far_."

Amanda drew a sudden breath at his purposeful reiteration of all this. She suddenly understood. "And you determined to prove her wrong?"

"I said you could. That I could train you in them." His eyes closed. "It was a foolish assertion on my part. It was very wrong of me. I know that now." He looked at her, as if half in plea. "But my wife, you did say you would do anything to prove such to her."

She had said that. Pleaded, even begged to do anything to make it so, to please her yet unknown and so disapproving mother-in-law. To reassure Sarek. Before they were married, she'd warily asked Sarek if he intended to turn her into a Vulcan, and he'd assured her that would not be so. After they were married, she'd nearly begged him to do that very thing. She'd been so new to Vulcan. She'd been so …young. Foolish too. Well she and Sarek had both been young and rather foolish. And at the time, she'd been so alone, alone in an alien society – and she'd wanted family, friends, acceptance. She'd done the best she could. Now she knew better.

You can't be what you're not. Sarek knew that too. Even their son, confused and torn by a very disparate upbringing, knew that.

But oh, how hard it was to **live** that knowledge. And how easy to slip, even with the best of intentions.

She regarded her husband with a compassion that surprised even her. If her mother-in-law's rejection had been hard on her, it had been worse for Sarek. She'd been outcast, outside of the controversy and ignorant of most of it. Perhaps Mark was right, she'd been a sort of Cinderella, confined to a castle, outcast from the rest. Complete, if not with wicked stepmother, than with wicked mother-in-law. But Sarek… he had been forced to live within it, every day. To see his wife and child suffer for it. To live with his own mother's decades old belief, year to year, one _Pon Far_ after another, that his wife would reject him. Not an enviable role, even for a prince.

As a mother herself, she knew how such beliefs or disbeliefs could damage a child. Even a Vulcan child. She herself had a Vulcan child and she had seen it in Spock. And Sarek was no child, he was a Vulcan male. And nothing was more devastating than a threat, even an aspersion, to the bond that was his lifeline. From a mother perhaps that was inexcusable.

T'Pau indeed had much for which to answer in that regard.

She told herself to remember that lesson herself. To never say **anything** to Spock against T'Pring, regardless of how she distrusted her. Spock would not hear one word against his potential bondmate. She would **not** repeat T'Pau's mistake.

But something puzzled her in Sarek's confession. "You didn't start them then. The lessons. Not till years later."

"I tried many times. I just could not bear to do it." He looked down, ducking his head like his son, as she had never seen him do. "You were…very sweet. I did not want to impose this on you."

"What made you do it?"

Sarek turned from her. "_Pon Far_."

She looked at him. He hadn't been through a _Pon Far_ when they'd first arrived on Vulcan. It had been another half a year before he'd had one. And they'd gotten through it all right. Sarek hadn't really known was to expect. It was one of those things you had to experience for yourself. She'd been relieved. Sarek had not been himself, but the reality had fallen short of the worst of everyone's predictions. Though the first _Pon Far_ was reputedly very light, very minor, followed by a full blown _Pon Far_ within the next two years. Sarek's had come in less than a year.

What had surprised her most was how much of an actual fever it was. Sarek's loss of control was as much delirium as hormones; Sarek had been half out of his head with fever, even in the first, minor _Pon Far_, his skin so hot she'd felt scalded by it. No wonder Vulcan males feared the blood fever. It was a dual one-two punch, perhaps an implacable Nature determined both were necessary to ensure that mating could not be avoided.

The first time, upon recovery, Sarek had still been dazed by the near complete loss of control the fever engendered. Like most Vulcan males, or so she gathered, he hadn't really expected to be so overcome by it. As strong as were Vulcan emotions, Vulcan controls were invariably stronger. They castigated themselves for even small lapses in that control. To completely lose all control, mentally and physically, so abruptly, so devastatingly must be, had been a profoundly shocking experience. He'd been relieved that he'd not hurt her.

Before the second _Pon Far_, Sarek had been more, not less apprehensive. Knowledge of what it could do, what he could be. But he'd still been almost disbelieving of his fever clouded memories. But then afterwards, he'd become grim. He hadn't needed a third experience to accept the truth of it. He hadn't imposed lessons right after that, but he had a year or two later. She understood that now. When he reached the down turn of his cycle. When he started feeling the slow inevitable erosion of his control that would end in the Fever. That's when he'd started the lessons.

She looked at him with compassion. Sometimes Vulcans were too controlled. She'd had no real idea then, how frightened he'd been. Of hurting her. Of losing her. She had never put it all together.

"Oh, Sarek."

She went into his arms and for a long moment, they just held each other.

But she drew back first. "It's all right, Sarek. And I don't want you to hold that against T'Pau. There's been **enough** suffering over this. Promise me, that you'll forgive her."

He just looked at her.

"**I** forgive her."

He relented. "I suppose if you have forgiven me, I cannot do less. Very well."

"I do love you." She raised her face to his and they kissed. And more than kissed. She felt it again, her anxiety, her fear that she could not get close enough.

But, rare for him, Sarek drew back first. "Are you well enough for this, Amanda? You are not too tired?"

Her eyes widened. Sarek was holding her closely enough that he could tell her physical state if he chose. She wondered why he was asking. "I'm fine. Yes, really." Seeing him eyeing her speculatively, she added, "Please."

Sarek picked her up, and then before he even took a step, kissed her again.

When he drew back, he looked down at her anew, as if searching for something in her that he couldn't find. That he didn't understand. His look was profoundly puzzled.

"Sarek?"

"I've been told…human females must be continually asked, in this regard." His brow furrowed. "I confess I do not really understand the phenomena. I am trying to…make sure."

"Continually asked….oh, no. Mark again?" She sighed. "No. You don't need to do that. Not with me. I **love** you. And long ago, I made a deal."

He looked down at her. "A bad deal, according to your physician."

"What do even human men know of human women?" she asked archly.

"Nevertheless, I am reevaluating certain things." For a moment he paused in their outer suite.

And then, as if making a decision, Sarek carried her into his study. The door closed behind him. She looked up at him, wide eyed, as he leaned back against the door.

Still holding her in his arms, he looked down at her. "Amanda. You said once you were willing to do anything. May I take it that that is still true?"

"Yes," she allowed. "Sarek?"

"Don't be concerned," he said. "This will not be as difficult as your first promise. At least I do not believe so. And am I not insisting. I am asking." He carried her further into the room.

_To be continued…_


	77. Chapter 77

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 77**

Unlike her study, which she used largely as an office, Sarek never worked in his, instead keeping an office on the ground floor. This was a real study, something of a meditation chamber. There was practically no furniture in this room. One wall of windows opened to the same jagged view of the Llangon mountains as their bedroom. One wall, carved out of the rock of the hills behind them, held a hearth, flanked by stylized lematya carvings, their teeth bared in permanent snarls, idols guarding the glowing red rocks of the meditation flames. Sarek preferred the sentry point for his meditations, and a glowing red sky or starfield. He used this room mostly in winter when it was too cold, or during sandstorms or Vulcan's rainy monsoon season. The red meditation flames were traditional tools used in the disciplines, as well as a reminder of Vulcan's savage past, a warning to master control.

One wall held shelves, some ancient clan texts, writings on the disciplines every Vulcan strove to master. And to counter that, an assortment of ancient weapons, personal family heirlooms, lirpas with razor sharp smooth and serrated edges, daggers, swords, the ahn-woon, and other reminders of Vulcan's violent past. There were some modern accoutrements of society – behind one ancient tapestry of Sarek's clan shield held a media screen, and communication access. Lematya carvings in corners of the room held speakers. There was even a limited servitor, for tea and some light prepared foods, held in stasis.

This room was meant to be self sustaining, at least for a short while.

And before the hearth, a thick rug made of the silky, springy tassel of a grain plant. And an assortment of cushions and bolsters.

Sarek sometimes meditated here, cross legged, sunk deep in Vulcan trance. Sometimes he read the ancient texts he stored here. Or when Vulcan sandstorms or monsoons were at their height and no one ventured out, the Vulcan equivalent of snow days, when even he had finished his work, or needed a break, he might relax in here, read on a portable viewer, sprawled on the rug before the flickering flames, while listening to the swish or patter of sand or rain against the Fortress' stone walls or a symphony or concern on the media screen. For him it was more of a den than a study, and given his busy schedule, one he seldom had leisure to use.

But she rarely came in here. For it had another purpose.

Sarek usually brought her here at least once during _Pon Far_, at the height of the fever, when his control was least sure. Took her on the silky rug before the hearth, under the lematya's snarls, the fireglow winking off the gleaming edges of the weapons, Vulcan's past reaching forward to claim Vulcan's present. The meditation flame a reminder to control. Why he brought her here.

Just the sight of this room made her pulse beat faster, her mouth go dry. At that stage of _Pon Far_, she didn't dare do anything, didn't risk anything, which might joggle his control. He was never violent in _Pon Far_, not like he'd been in _vrie_. But even an inadvertent move on her part, a jig when she should have jogged, could cause him to bruise her, when his strength was barely leashed, so untempered.

Sarek looked down at her, and she reminded herself he was not in _Pon Far_ now. She smiled at him.

He laid her down before the hearth, came down beside her, his expression grave, considering. "Amanda."

It was even a shock to hear him speak in this room. He was never in a state for words when they were usually in here. Vulcan males in the fever did not speak. Much of their higher reasoning was short-circuited by the fever. Gone. They didn't really understand speech either, not at the height of it, not until the worst of the fever was past. At least, she'd seen no evidence that he really understood her when she spoke to him then. She was reminded anew of why Sarek strove so hard for control. Clung so to their traditions.

"I have told you there will be no more lessons."

She still found that hard to accept, still couldn't have been more shocked than if he'd said he was leaving her.

"You're really sure?"

"Indeed. There will be no more lessons. For **you**." He reached down and began to undo her hair, fussy as always not to pull a strand. "But I am Vulcan, and **my** control is most at issue here Operant conditioning…is quite effective… for Vulcans as well as humans." He finished undressing her, rose, dropped her clothes on a shelf and shed his own clothes, a Vulcan strip tease, totally unconscious of it, his eyes pinned to her, roving down her. She felt her own breath coming fast.

He came down beside her, kneeling next to her. "But for me…I will endeavor to use those tools in another way. We will…make love…here. We will even…play here. Pleasant associations. Pleasant conditioning. So that in the fever, I will remember - be preconditioned to associate - that human love can withstand even Vulcan passion. That even our games of mock aggression end in love, in mating. Not in fear and hurt. Yes?"

She breathed out, a sigh of relief. "Yes. Oh, yes."

He took her hand in his, slid fingers to fingers, Vulcan style, and then raised her hand to his lips in a kiss. And then settled down beside her.

She drew a breath. It was all still a little overwhelming, the red glow of the flames winking across the razor sharp blades of the weapons, the silky feel of the rug under her bare skin, and the scalding warmth of Sarek's skin as he moved to cover her. He kissed her and she indulged herself with a hand behind his head, fingers carding through his crisp curls, careful to avoid the tender spot where he'd bumped it. For a moment she drew her other arm around his neck, hugging him to her, fierce and tight. She still couldn't get close enough. Bonded or not, love aside, she never felt close enough She rather hoped she'd never lose that feeling. And then, indulgence aside, she steeled herself back to discipline, drew her arms behind her head, crossing her wrists as she'd done thousands of times before.

Sarek drew back, looked at her. "Amanda, no."

"It's all right," she assured him, remembering he'd be wary of her wrist, the recent break. "It doesn't hurt."

He took her hands in his and drew them down. "No. You as yet do not understand me." He held her hands gently in his for a moment, and then released them. A starling, flying free.

This was a bigger shock than his announcement that there would be no more lessons. This he'd done from the first days of their marriage. Even outside of lessons, he invariably pinned her wrists at some point during their lovemaking. "Really?"

"I will not say _never_," Sarek said, grave and yet still teasing her, even in this. "You have taught me the folly of that, and I have my own passions. But never …deliberately."

"Oh, Sarek," she couldn't help herself, she couldn't hardly believe it, or realized, now that it was past, how much it meant. How much it had bothered her, after all these years. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him so fiercely she bore him back, down against the silky rug. Covering him. She didn't realize what she'd done until she drew back from the kiss, to meet her husband's amused eyes. He sat up, one hand going to the back of his head. She met his eyes, her face flaming to rival the flickering flames of the fire idol. At least she'd pushed him down against a pillow.

"Oh, your poor head. Did I hurt you?"

"Amanda. You never cease to amaze me."

"I…I'm sorry." If she had done that before, in a lesson situation, or even out of one, she might have earned herself a lesson or two or three, depending where Sarek was in his cycle, and how strict he was being, to teach her better control. And in here? She deserved a lifetime of them. She mentally kicked herself. The very minute he let her loose from those restrictions, she did something stupid.

"There is no need to apologize." He tumbled her down beside him, underneath him, and kissed her in turn, but with more control. "I am pleased my wife desires me. Still."

"Always. Sarek, I really am very sorry."

"Perhaps I was in error."

She eyed him, wondering if she really **had** blown it.

"Indeed, I believe I have long been in error," Sarek continued, looking more amused than grave, his hand absently caressing her face, her cheek. But not reaching to pin her anew. She held her breath, wondering. Waiting for what he would do, say next.

"Perhaps control is simply something humans can **never** learn. Should not learn." He flicked a finger down and off her nose, in teasing reproof. "Even as I have demonstrated exemplary control on my own behalf."

"Not!" she accused.

Sarek sighed. "I have of course been forced by human biological tendencies to keep my wife…sufficiently engaged. It has been a continual trial. Yet one to which I long ago promised fealty. Fortunately it is one to which I have never failed to…rise."

"You!" She was half outraged, half amused in turn. Even to his use of the word _never_, beginning to be a watchword for them, loaded with special meaning. "You may need to start pinning me down again if you are going to talk like that."

"Indeed. But I have already said I will not do so. And must thus take the consequences of your unbridled, unruly emotions…my very human wife."

That did it. The Vulcan gargoyles could raise their brows in shock, she didn't care. Those last words were, had long been – in their shared history and in this type of situation - _fighting_ words. A direct challenge. An invitation to play. Sarek apparently didn't plan to waste any time in starting their new lessons. And she had six months of buried aggression of her own to work through. And this was as pleasant a way as any to expunge it. She took advantage of the tacit invitation and launched herself at her very Vulcan husband. His poor head aside.

And he answered her in kind. "Just try, my wife. Even kicking and screaming will not help you." And the game was on in earnest.

She squealed and squirmed free – he let her of course - and she struggled to her feet, kicking out when he grabbed at an ankle, safer than her wrist for him, she flying to escape him. There was no furniture to put between her and him, her usual tactic, trying to avoid his longer reach, so she ran out on the balcony, where there were a few chairs and tables. After giving her a bit of a head start, he then chased her. They played a brief but very silly game of keep-away tag before she was laughing so hard she was out of breath, betrayed by her sore ribs and the thin air. Not so hampered, he caught her, picked her up, kissed her even more breathless under the Vulcan sky, before carrying her back to the silky rug. Laying her gently down before the hearth.

Fighting, even in play, now far from both their minds.

And as she wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, no unpleasant associations from the past plagued her mind, or his.

This kind of lesson, she could handle.

This kind of lesson, she'd thank even Surak for.

Even Jane would approve of an _engagement_ that lasted throughout one's marriage.

And as he drew her under him, if the lematyas guarding the flames looked at them askance, **these** lematya were blessedly silent.

_Fini_

_If you made it this far, please review, review, review…_

**Holography 3**

**As a Reminder and a Promise**

**written**

**April – July 2005**

**Pat Foley**

**at Brookwood**

**slightly revised March/April 2011**

**References – Holography 3: As a Reminder and a Promise**

Austen, Jane, Collected Letters

Austen, Jane, Emma

Austen, Jane, Love and Friendship

Austen,Jane, Mansfield Park

Barry,Philip, The Philadelphia Story

Brothers Grimm, Cinderella

Carroll, Lewis (aka, Dodgson, Charles), Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There

Henry, O, (aka Porter, William Sydney) " Gift of the Magi" The Four Million, 1906

Hilton,James, Lost Horizon, Morrow, NY, 1933

Kerr, Jean, Please Don't Eat The Daisies, Doubleday and Co., NY, 1954

McGinley, Phyllis, "In Praise of Diversity", Times Three, Viking Press, NY 1960

Saki (aka Munro, H. H.), "Reginald on Besetting Sins, the Woman Who Told the Truth", Reginald, 1904

Shakespeare, William, Hamlet

Shakespeare, William, Romeo and Juliet

Shakespeare, William, Sonnet 29

Paramount owns Star Trek

All original material in this novel copyright Pat Foley 2005

Please do not distribute, repost or archive elsewhere without permission of the author. As Tolkien said, courtesy at least to living authors requires that one ask.


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